


Hidden Infatuations

by andiebeaword



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Close to Canon, Episode Related, F/M, Fix-It Season, Friends With Benefits, Possibly Unrequited Love, Reid's headaches, Seaver's arc, Smut, friends helping friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiebeaword/pseuds/andiebeaword
Summary: Ashley Seaver is asked to join the BAU on a one-time case.She hits it off with the resident genius after he informs her of his vast knowledge of her father.Spencer Reid is suffering from headaches.Seaver shows up at his door one night as a friend.She leaves his place as something more......**I do not own anything Criminal Minds related**
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Ashley Seaver
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

A/N:So, if I thought some readers were going to dislike my shipping of Cat/Reid, I've got news for you! I totally would have actually loved to have seen Seaver and Reid get together, even if it was meant to be short lived (I mean, she is in more episodes than Maeve....). This is my interpretation on how their relationship/friendship might have gone during Season 6. 

After meeting the newest recruit to the BAU, Dr. Spencer Reid's first impression of Ashley Seaver is anything but normal. Upon hearing who her father was, he couldn't help but breakout in facts he had read of him years ago. His heart dropped when she informed him that he knew more about her father than even she did. 

He wasn't going to get ahead of himself though. He knew better. He had an inkling that she would soon decide to leave as so many had done before her. It was only a matter of time. He knew damn well to never let himself get involved with someone, knowing they could never stay. Still, the minute Garcia asked him about her, he couldn't help but smile her way as he quickly answered his techie friend. When she teased him about thinking the newbie was pretty, he was quick to point out that he never actually said that he thought she was pretty. He hated when his squeaky voice would give him away. It was unfortunately one of his tells. 

Even knowing his hopes would get crushed, Reid was perpetually surprised to find that Seaver really could shatter any and all hopes with just three simply words: "Sorry, for asking." For the remainder of the flight, the two sat as far away from each other as two people possibly could. To anyone else on their team, Reid and Seaver were cordial and respectful. 

Little did Reid know that Seaver had been hiding a secret involving him all on her own....


	2. Ashley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley Seaver is new to the BAU. While helping out with a case, she's surprised to have somewhat made a friend out of Dr. Spencer Reid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "What Happens At Home..."

\--------♥-------- 

Working with the BAU wasn't necessarily a dream come true, but it was different than being in the academy. Being a cadet was great and I was immensely proud of myself for coming this far. Being the daughter of a serial killer isn't anyone's dream, but it is my life.

The day I walked into the doors of the BAU is not a day I will most likely forget. Nor the amazing people I've had the pleasure of getting to know and working along side. I still remember it like it was yesterday, and not just mere months ago...

••• 

"Ashley," spoke David Rossi from atop the stairs as I made my way towards a couple of agents. "Agent Trainee Seaver, Supervisory Special Agents Prentiss and Morgan." I remember Rossi telling me about them. Prentiss was pretty much the feminine bad ass package and Morgan was talked about as the unofficial appointed 'ladies' man' of the BAU. In the looks department, he did not overtly disappoint. 

"I've heard a lot about both of you," I spoke as I shook each of their hands, respectively. Warm smiles all around. Good. Even if I only get to be here with them on this case alone, it will be well worth the experience to take back home with me to the academy. 

"Well, I hope it was all good," piped up Morgan. He gave me a peculiar smile, almost like the Cheshire cat from the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland. In that moment, he kindly reminded me of one speck of my childhood that was not tainted by the memory of my father. That was only of the only parts of my life he didn't tamper with his cruelty. 

"Very, sir." I wanted to continue this outward persona I had quickly adopted, one of me being a young woman who can live past the horrors of her childhood. To not appear gloriously haunted by ghosts I cannot control. 

"Anything, specific?" Morgan piped up, again, this time, raising his eyebrows at me. I had to chuckle just a little, releasing a bit of tension I didn't realize I was holding in. "I mean, about me in particular." Before either one of us could comment on that last line of his, Prentiss cut to the chase. 

"Oh, please, don't encourage him." Gee, sounds like he really is quite the ladies' man. Maybe my newfound profiling skills are developing already. Hotch took that opportunity to segway to his team as to why I was new and suddenly here. On this particular case. 

"Agent Seaver is on loan to us from the Academy while she's in remedial training with an injury." Oh, right. Forgot about that. I barely feel the pain of anything anymore. Mostly numb. Not really living, going through the motions...

"Concussion. Hand-to-hand got a little out of control," I spoke subconsciously. It's what I do when the thoughts and images in my head play around. I was always edgy, never one to back down from an opponent. Remorse was a rare feeling to show, but I was working on it. I have to remind myself I am human, after all. 

"How's the other guy?" Prentiss asked. How is he? Worse off than me, that's for sure. Probably gently rubbing his bruised ego back at the academy along with his fractured jaw, a few broken fingers, maybe ribs...I guess I got carried away. I need limits. Personal limits. 

"Oof, don't ask," is all I managed to say. 

Out of nowhere, someone else starts talking. Didn't introduce himself, per say, just began rambling. Like that was his part while being here, a part of the BAU. 

"I was remediated in the academy also," spoke the man. He dressed similar to the other men on the team, though having an obvious extra accessory in the form of a messenger bag around his shoulder. Not bad looking, but even I could tell there was a sadness in his eyes. There was a sadness in everyone's eyes here, including mine. 

"Agent Seaver, Dr. Reid," cut in Rossi. I noticed no one is introducing first names around here. I guess that must be a privilege to be earned and not a given necessity. Reid just nods his head slightly, giving me a tight lipped blank stare. Wait, he mentioned he was remediated too? That must mean he was listening in on our conversation much earlier than I realized. Wonder why....

"Um, what was your issue?" What could be his issue? He seemed smart enough. He's a doctor...probably with at least one P.h.d. working for the BAU after all. He seemed slightly awkward, but not when it comes to speaking about anything he knows. 

"Ah, what was my issue?" Reid begins. Oh, no. Usually, when someone repeats your question as a questionable, albeit sarcastic statement, there is bound to be information attached in a similar tone. Wait for it... "Uh, marksmanship, physical training, obstacle course, Hogan's Alley--you know, pretty much everything that wasn't technically book related." My jaw practically hit the floor. Looking around, all I was met with were smirks from each and every member of the team, with the exception of Reid, of course. Everything he just listed off, those were my highlights. I could literally do circles around him. So, why is he here, while I'm just a cadet? I mean, we're practically the same age. "They ultimately had to make exceptions to allow me into the field." 

So, he's a real smartypants. With the attitude to boot. Cool. 

"Agent Seaver's going to accompany us to New Mexico," spoke Hotch. 

"She is?" questioned Morgan. 

"As a consultant," Hotch quipped. 

"On?" pressed Morgan. 

"She has....a unique perspective," chimed in Rossi. Always with the clever insert. Wait....not one of the team mates has questioned why I, of all people , am here on this unique case. I'm sure, if anyone would've asked me, it would've been Reid. He's seems to be the Mr. Know-It-All of their tight knit group. Why hadn't he asked me any questions? They must not know. 

"They don't know," I tentatively asked Rossi and Hotch. Their faces read clear as day: guilty. 

"Well, we weren't sure how you wanted to, um..." Rossi trailed off, his eyes softened, sadness all around. They wanted their team to know on my terms. It still feels weird, knowing that there's kind and considerate people in the world, even better, people who take their time and thoughtfulness to look out for me. I turned to face the confused faces of BAU team. 

"Seaver's not my original last name," I began. "It's my mother's maiden name." Their faces only displaying further confusement with each word I spoke. "Mine used to be Beauchamp," I continued. Every single time I say his name, flashes of my unwanted childhood slowly creep in. "My father is Charles Beauchamp." Ah. There it is. I saw right away the lightbulb that went off in Reid's head. He demeanor changed abruptly as his voice wavered in my presence. 

"As in the Redmond Ripper Charles Beauchamp?" His voice cracked just enough at the end, almost like he was suddenly hoping he was wrong. Haven't even know this guy for twenty minutes and it was almost like I knew him well enough to understand that he wasn't one to go out of his way only to be proven wrong. He prided himself on being right. So....why does he not look so confident? Did he not know my father had a kid? 

I nodded quickly. "That's him." 

"He killed 25 women over 10 years in rural North Dakota. I think--uh, you caught him, right, Rossi?" Yes, both he and Hotch did. That was how I met him. He was one of the first men to show me true, honest to god kindness, with no room for ulterior, unlike my father. 

"Hotch was on that team, too," Rossi informed his colleague. His eyes rolling in Hotch's direction. 

"Based on her life experiences, we were hoping that Agent Seaver might recognize something in the family dynamics inside the community that could be helpful." There was an eerily unfeeling pause after. "We have a plane waiting." 

I turned toward Reid and followed him, and Rossi out towards a plane, I'm presuming? 

•••

I felt horrible. I felt like I wasn't helping them get any closer to stopping whoever this 'unsub' was. Between trying to focus on the information about this case and picking out different memories of my own to see if any mirror what is happening....I hear Reid, of all people, spouting facts like he was reading them straight from a book. Except there was never a book in his hands. And he always maintained eye contact with me as he spoke. Weird. 

Eventually, we were in a church, a community hall. Snapshots and evidence were all over the tables that Reid was currently standing near. I remembered something he had said earlier during the case and thought maybe he could elaborate even more? Not that that would surprise me. What surprises me is why I'm asking in the first place. 

"All that stuff you said about BTK and the Hillside Strangler, it's all in your head?" I always felt the more information someone could retain, and access at any given minute; that their brain would have to expand to allow that much to be stored into. But Reid's head looked...normal. Dare I say flattering, almost, in proportion to the rest of him. He nodded and sighed, like he was about to give me an answer he has given only a million times before. 

"I have an eidetic memory." There. Like that simple small statement could explain everything. 

"So you know everything my dad did then." If he knew everything, then he knew a hell of a lot more than I ever did. More than I even know now. It hurt a little, that someone else held that information within themselves. Knowing things about me, about my life, about my past, a past I lived through; and yet, more than I ever have. "I only know what was told, and what was in the papers." He gave me a melancholy look, like he felt suddenly guilty for knowing something I only ever wished to know. It wan't necessarily that I wished to know. It was more like wanting to know and understand why things happened the way they did. I shrugged, trying to earn enough sympathy from him, so that maybe he would feel okay enough to share with me what exactly was in his head, regarding my father. "I don't have a lot of details." 

"Uh, what sort of details--" Damn. Just as Reid was opening up to me and about to tell me what I had at least thought I wanted to know, Hotch cuts him off. 

"Agent Seaver. There's going to be a community meeting tonight." 

•••

I went off to try and reason with the unsub. A father. A serial killer. With a daughter. It was all too real. I wanted to do something. Even if it meant me getting killed, as long as that man's daughter lived. Hoping she could live with less horrors about her father than I do of mine. 

Once on the jet, I knew I was going to get reprimanded. It was inevitable. I went off on my own. No backup. No communication with any of the team members. I wasn't trustworthy. I wasn't thinking with a clear head. Just as Hotch and Rossi took their seats next to mine, I knew. Or, at least, I thought I did. 

"You were not supposed to go off on your own," Hotch stated, clearly. I gulped. 

"I know," I said. 

"You could have been killed," he continued. Yes, he's not wrong. 

"I know that, too," I said, again. 

"Why, Ashley?" Rossi asked. "You're smarter than that." I hung my head. Looking off into what seemed like an endless sea or nowhere, I spoke. 

"I never got to apologize to any of the victims. The families of the women my father killed. I thought if I could just apologize to one family that had been hurt that way..." I choked. This was becoming all too much for me. Good thing this was a one-time thing. I knew then that there was no way I was cut out to be a full-fledged member of the BAU. I was far too fragile for that. 

"I'm sorry, that's not good enough," Hotch said. His eyes tore right through me. I wanted nothing more than to be back at the academy. I thought of Reid for a moment. Even when I leave and go back, maybe, just maybe, I could talk to Reid outside of the BAU and take him out to coffee or something, just so he can tell me more about my father. Maybe. "By making that choice, you put everyone at risk." I knew he was right. "When you're in the field, we are responsible to and for each other." Like a family. I could sense that the moment I began shaking Prentiss and Morgan's hands. I didn't belong. No one wants to be part of a family with someone whose father is a serial killer. Simple as that. "We are a team." 

"I won't do it again," I said, my head shaking, my eyes watering profusely. Hotch glared at me. 

"No, you won't." 

And just like that, I thought I knew I was done for. Never to see the likes of these people again.   
Hey, I said I thought I was done for. 

Apparently, not quite yet. 

\--------♥--------


	3. Spencer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Spencer Reid meets the new temporary recruit, Ashley Seaver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "What Happens At Home..."

\--------♥-------- 

I was late. More than late. Not being able to see J.J. at work had been harder on me than even I realized. Thankfully, as I snuck inside the doors, I saw that most of my teammates were standing around talking. One of them was a blonde woman. Not J.J. I was pretty sure of that. As I walked closer, I just barely heard the tail end of their conversation. "I was remidiated in the academy also." I came to stand by Morgan, clutching my messenger bag as I spoke. Rossi gave me the introduction I needed. 

"Agent Seaver, Dr. Reid." I gave her my best tight lipped smile, still unsure as to who she was in regards to our team. She spoke up before anything was willing to come out of my mouth. 

"Um, what was your issue?" Seaver asked me. What was my issue? More like what wasn't my issue! I couldn't help but list off everything, showing off my genius, as Morgan would call it. I not only discovered she was going to tag along as a consultant with us on this case, but that she is the daughter of the Redmond Ripper aka Charles Beauchamp. As much as I'd like think I had the worst childhood, I think she's got me beat. My mom may be sick, but she was never a serial killer. 

-

"....and that is the whole kit and kaboodle on each of your 64 suspects," Garcia chimed in over the phone. I was standing around, waiting on some paperwork to print. "Nothing really stands out. They're all pretty plain." 

"That's pretty much the main issue we're going to have here," I sighed. No one in this town seemed too thrilled with us being here. It was almost like they'd be fine if we just turn a blond eye and go home, letting a killer continue with their plans. 

"Yeah. Vanilla doesn't make your job any easier," Garcia continued. She's right. This was a pretty upscale Caucasian neighborhood. Not one person of color, it seemed. Odd. 

"No, it does not," I said. Just when I thought Garcia had more information to share with me, she started talking about Seaver, instead. 

"So, um, how's it going with the agent whose father was a...you know?" How did she know that? Wait. This is Penelope Garcia we're talking about here. I should be more surprised at what she didn't know. 

"How'd you know that?" I asked, incredulously. 

"I might have looked into someone's hidden background.....what? I am not gonna let some strange new person travel with my family and not find out who they are." 

As Garcia continues to explain, I let my eyes drift until they land on her. Her back is to me, as she discusses the case with Rossi and Hotch. Even though she's definitely not J.J. I can't help but feel similar feelings I had over five years ago when J.J first joined our team. Before Seaver could turn around and catch me staring, I rolled my eyes to the back of my head as I continued talking with Garcia. 

"I don't know. She seems fine," I squeaked. Oh, no. I squeaked! Sure enough, Penelope heard and was more than quick to jump on it. Shit. There was a pause. 

"What was that in your voice?" 

I responded all too quickly. "What's what in my voice?" I squeaked again. 

"Oh, my god. You think she's pretty." I did. I never said that I did, but apparently, Penelope has some secret radar that helps her pick up what I never meant to put down. 

"What? I never said that!" There, I squeaked an entire octave higher. If she didn't already know before, I most surely gave myself away this time. 

"Ho, ho, you totally do," now Garcia was laughing. At me. Great. "P.G. out, Lover Boy." She hung up on me. I raised my eyebrows as I looked down at the phone, before pocketing it and continuing to look over the printed paperwork in front of me. 

-

Later on, Seaver had asked me about what I know of her father. Just as I was about to share it with her, Hotch cut me off. Seaver looked sad. I could understand wanting to know all one could about their parents, even if it wasn't bedtime story material. I found myself wondering if she would be around long enough to want to ask me again. 

-

"I wanted to thank you for having my back," I overheard Seaver say to Emily as she came up to hand her some coffee. 

"I hope you have mine," came Emily's response. 

I had been reading the paper at the moment, but the talk of coffee caused me to notice that I hadn't gotten myself any since I walked in. I sat the paper down and stood up, making my way to the break room. It wasn't until the coffee began brewing that I noticed I had been followed. 

"Hey, Reid," she said. "If I had known you hadn't had any, I would've gotten you one, too." I smiled at her. She looked beautiful. The second the thought crossed my mind, I shoved it down and turned my face away from her. "I um, wanted to ask you if now's a good time for you to uhh, tell me about my father?" 

I glanced up at her, sheepishly. "Is there ever a good time for that?" I frowned at her, unsure if I should share with her what I know. I'm guessing the reasons she doesn't know were good to someone at the time. 

"No, but I uhh, I want to know, so just, tell me what you were going to tell me last time, please, Reid," she begs. I hate it when Garcia is right. 

"You know, you can call me Spencer," I say, giving her a tiny smile. She chuckles. It's cute. 

"Okay, only if you call me Ashley," she retorts. 

I nod my head. "So, uhh, Ashley, what exactly about your father do you want to know?" I decided I wouldn't indulge in every single detail I've read, but I want to share enough, if only to have her share with me more so why it bothers her. 

"Um," she let out a heavy sigh. "Well, everything? I mean, I was only a child. I didn't understand much of what was going on at the time. Only that he loved me and wanted to uhh, protect me." 

"Well, from what I've read, Beauchamp was charged with killing 25 women between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-eight over the course of a decade. He earned his nickname given that his killings displayed distinct signs of brutality and extremely low blood count." 

Ashley kept her face neutral as I spoke. I raised my eyebrows at her, looking for any signs that she wanted me to stop, or continue. She looked down, then back at me with pleading eyes. "I'm guessing you had a very sheltered childhood up until he was incarcerated due to the fact that he knew exactly what types of men were out there and loved you too much to have that affect you....could also clearly explain why you mentioned earlier that you were never allowed a pet of any kind, specifically a dog, right?" I didn't mean to let her in on the fact that I had eavesdropped earlier on the flight home from that case, but I had. 

"Yeah, well, um, I just figured I was too much for him to handle, to control..." she tapered off. 

"Yes and no. I remember Rossi stated in one of his books regarding her father's case that Beauchamp admitted while on trial that he knew from a young age that he had compulsions he lost more and more control of as he aged. His worst fears were not only you witnessing him at his absolute worst, but, um...inheriting it as well." I gulped as those last few words left my mouth. Inheriting something we may never get from a parent was something I struggled with more than Ashley ever knew. 

"I sense a story there, Spencer," she tested out my name to me. I liked it. 

"There is, but not one worth telling now, sorry," I blushed. I grabbed my coffee and headed out to the bullpen, praying that Ashley wouldn't bother me about it again. 

Just as I heard Ashley walking not too far behind me, Garcia walked in. 

"Guys, we have a case." 

\--------♥--------


	4. Ashley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley notices something's off with Spencer. She goes over to comfort him. One thing lead to another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Corazon." Mentions of Sex. Use of Alcohol is Mentioned.

\--------♥-------- 

I wanted to ask Spencer more about my dad, but he seemed reluctant as it were. I decided not to push matter further. At home, I opened up an old shoe box that I keep in the very back of my closet. I keep every single letter my father ever sent me. I still have yet to open them. I'm not sure I ever will. I shove it back on the top shelf as I grab basic essentials for my go-bag. Another case, Garcia had said. Part of me was wondering if Spencer was simply doing as I asked, or something else. I tried not to dwell on it. 

-

I came up to find Spencer pouring a ridiculous amount of coffee into his mug. We had been at this for a day or so, trying to help Morgan out. "Sounds like we need to profile a dormant killer," I said to Reid. For this case, we've discovered that there were three murders who went unarrested for their crimes for over two decades. Now, one of them was quickly cutting loose ends. 

"A very lucky one," Spencer added, as he set the coffee pot down and moved to add the necessary copious amounts of sugar in his cup. "He was essentially give a gift---a patsy in the form of Don Sanderson, and he'll do anything to protect that story." The whole time he spoke, I just dazed off, trying to wrap my head around how Morgan had come to vouch for this guy. 

"When someone has a secret this big, everything becomes a lie," I said. It's true. In case Reid forgot, I was speaking from personal experience; experience he, himself, even shared with me. Nodding, Spencer continued his train of thought as well. 

"He'll most likely be pathological," he mused, lifting his coffee filled cup to his mouth. I tilted my head and eyes away, trying my best not to give anything away, though I'm not sure there was anything I had to give away at this time...

"So, we're looking for a liar in D.C. I thought we were trying to narrow this down." More nodding from Dr. Reid. He looked tired. Even more tired than I had ever seen him before. He kept rubbing his forehead and his temples moreso, although I chose not to say anything as we barely know each other and the last thing I need is to screw up my chances of being a full agent with the BAU. I pushed all thoughts to the back of my head and began walking towards the board. 

-

In the briefing room, I came and sat down next to Prentiss. We were all accounted for, except Reid. From what I gathered, he was uncharacteristically late. All of our eyes landed on him as he jogged into the room. "Hey, you okay?" Prentiss asked him. He shot her a look. 

"Yeah, why?" Spencer clipped as he shrugged his satchel off his shoulders and proceeded to sit down in his chair while we all waited for Hotch to start the briefing for the newest case. Morgan eyed him too, piping up from his spot. 

"You're never late." 

"Have we started the briefing yet? Reid asks, the tone in his voice, telling me he knew the answer well before he even thought to ask the question. Penelope walks in behind Reid and goes to stand by the screen. 

"Just about to." 

"Then I'm not late," Reid states, simply, pulling papers out of his bag. 

"Oh, yeah, attention, intrepid BAU adventurers," Garcia starts. "the land of Bermuda shorts, white leisure suits, and sansabelt slacks requests your presence." 

"Vegas?" Rossi asks.  
"Arizona." Morgan states.   
"Palm Springs," Prentiss chimes in. 

"Please," Hotch counters in his normal stern voice. 

"I was going to say Miami, but point well made about the dizzying number of locales with unfortunate fashion tendencies. Here we go," Garcia continues, pointing to the screen behind her. I zoned out shortly after that. Spencer kept his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes, forehead and temples again. I want so badly to ask what is wrong with him, but again, the two of us aren't exactly close buddies. 

-

"Reid?" Hotch asks as we are currently flying out to Miami. I glance up at him. He seemed to be dazed, himself, not really listening to what we were all discussing. 

"Yeah, um," Reid stutters, gathering his papers and making his way to the seat next to Hotch. I want to ask him again, but I just can't ever seem to think of it at the right time. "The Afro-Caribbean syncretic religions began with slaves, who mixed their traditional religions with Catholicism in order to camouflage them." As he talks, I notice he keeps glancing down at his papers. Almost like his profound reading skills have come to a screeching halt. I only wished there was something I, or even anyone of us could do to help. Although, without knowing him too terribly well, even I get the distinct feeling that a guy like Dr. Spencer Reid doesn't go seeking for help unless he's found no other way, himself. "The elements in this altar...look to me like Santeria," he continues, flipping through more papers before finding the correct ones and passing them to Morgan. "It's a Yoruban-based religion developed in Cuba. Practitioners worship orishas, deities that roughly correspond with catholic saints." 

"And what about the shells?" Morgan asks, flipping through what Reid just handed to him. 

"Let's see," Reid answers, going back to the papers still in his hands. "This is Ellegua, the Deity of the Crossroads, a trickster and the impartial enforcer of justice." At some point, minutes ago, I perked an ear to listen, hoping to engage enough so my newest peers wouldn't catch on that I was more worried about just one, in particular, at the moment. 

"So, is the unsub sacrificing the victims to him?" I asked. Reid perked his head in my direction before answering, getting better at not drawing obvious unusual attention to himself. 

"None of these religions openly call for human sacrifice, only animals." 

As everyone else continued to talk, Spencer stood up and walked towards the coffee station. I turned my head just enough to see him, but decided to turn back, seeing as, once more, I really had no right to be this worried about him. He's just a co-worker. A strange one, and, for now, one who was acting very...not normal. After Hotch told us our assignments, myself being paired with Rossi and not Reid, I stood up too, making my way behind Spencer. "This the line?" I asked. I wanted to come out and ask, 'Are you alright?' 'Is there anything I can do to help?' but, I know I don't want to push him away. He's touching his temples again. Maybe he's getting a headache? I could certainly understand that. He's been doing this job for years. I imagine he's seen worse than just what my father had done. As soon the words had left my mouth, Reid reacted, clearly haven't noticed me walking up to him in the first place. 

"Hmm?" he asked, almost in a sleepy voice. He startled me, surprisingly. 

"Um...uh, for coffee, sorry," was all I managed to say. It was only then that I saw that Spencer never in fact, got himself an coffee. It was almost like he had moved to distance himself from us and here I am just intruding in on whatever he was doing by himself. 

"Oh, no. No. I'm just thinking," he slurred. Clearly what ever he's going through, it's not helping him sleep for shit. Damn, I wish I could be his friend right now. He definitely looks like he could sure use one. Again, not wanting to intrude any further than I clearly already had, I asked him one of the age old questions, I'm sure he hears all the time. 

"Aren't you always?" For a second, I saw his dimples move, forming a very tiny smile across his saddened face. I chuckled a little, myself, hoping to add to the amusement. 

"Yeah," he breathed. Just as he moved past me, back to his seat, he turned back and asked me an odd question, considering what month it was. "Hey, what's the weather like in Miami right now?" It was an odd question coming for the Doctor, himself, but I happily obliged. 

"I don't know exactly, but my guess--- 75 and sunny." We shared quick, short nods before he went back to his seat, and I made myself some much needed coffee. 

-

Here I was, a bottle of cheap wine in my hands, standing in front of my colleagues apartment door. At 2:00 a.m. I couldn't will myself to sleep. I kept replaying how I saw him, how his hands couldn't seem to stop rubbing his eyes red. Something was clearly bothering him, and it bothered me more than I cared to admit, that no one else on the team seemed to notice, or if they had, do anything about it. I figured being new and close in age, would help me be able to help him. 

It was never my intention to sleep with Spencer. 

I was just thankful I had a test that required my attendance back at the academy. I left him a note. What happened was something to stay between us. 

\-------♥--------


	5. Spencer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer has started experiences terrible headaches. He finds unexpected solace and relief in Ashley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Corazon." Mentions of Sex. Use of Alcohol is Mentioned. Kissing. Cursing. Unprotected Sex. Penetrative Sex.

\--------♥-------- 

It was four minutes till 7:00 a.m. I had been waiting, patiently at first, maybe, but it was now over fifteen minutes since my name should have been called. I was tapping my foot sporadically. I was the only patient waiting throughout the entire hallway. I left my sunglasses on. The bright florescent lights were continuing to mess with my head. Damn, I hate headaches. 

"We're almost ready for you, Dr. Reid," the nurse said. I dared to raise my head up, eyes looking directly at her through my shades. I let my hopes go up. I should have known better. They all think I'm crazy. The second I hear her say, "Just a few questions," my head drops. The feeling of pain and anger move to the forefront of my brain. I instinctively raise my hand to rub my temples. It's become quite the habit of mine. "Are you having one of your headaches right now?" Does it look like I am? I wanted to snap at her, so bad. As my hand moved from my forehead, I used it to pull my sunglasses down from my face. 

"Yeah, I am." I squinted at her. I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. The last thing I want is to give Hotch a reason to bench me to Garcia's batcave. 

"How long have you had it?" How long? I don't care to answer. Being a man of science is so ungodly frustrating at this point, I just wanted to scream, or, if given the option, take any pill they'd give me if promised it would erase the pain I'm feeling right now. 

"Um....not really that long. I don't know." Now there's three words that hardly ever come out of my mouth. Every time Morgan's caught me saying that, he looks at me like I'm a ghost. I can see the nurse gingerly going over my file in front of her. Is she even trying to help me? If she is, she's not acting like it. 

"Can you be more specific?" Can you please let me talk to the doctor?

"Uhh, maybe two days." It sure as hell felt like two months, if you ask me. It had now been over twenty minutes since this nurse has started talking to me. Where is the doctor?

"And the lights hurt your eyes." No. I was wearing sunglasses inside just for fun. At this point, the pain was so bad, I couldn't talk anymore. Si Just nodded. A lot. "Any hallucinations?"

"No." Yes. Whenever I'd close my eyes, I'd see it. A white dove trying hard to escape the clutches of a hand. The hand that belonged to a Native American man, maybe? Or African American? I couldn't tell. Then, there was a cross made up of a bunch of stones. Too many to count. 

In between the flashes, I notice that I'm out of my clothes and in a hospital gown. When the fuck did that happen? More pain hits my head. I see flower petals? They look as if they are falling from an oddly shaped wreath. Another flash. Now, I'm being rolled into the MRI machine. I'm supposed to remain extremely still. They are looking at scans of my brain. I can see them, too. Wait, no. It's a skull. A porcelain doll? Goddammit! Make this infuriating headaches stop! Please! I hear myself screaming internally. 

Next thing I see is a small house with a metal chain link fence. The latch on the gate is broken. It keeps clanging. Louder. And louder. A flash of a knife with blood on it is all I see next. I'm trying hard to concentrate, but I fail, miserably. I see a face, a shrunken head, maybe? With shells for eyes? I find myself gripping the sheets that are laid over me. The next few flashes are faster. Some blood spatter? The dove, again. A lei? A wooden doll? Black door? The face with the shells, again? Next thing I know, I'm back in my own clothes, vaguely listening and nodding to the doctor as they tell me when I should expect the results from my scans to be in. 

-

It's past 8:30 a.m. before I manage to make it to the doors of the BAU. I'm late. I'm rarely late. As I'm hastily racing to the briefing room, I hope none of my co-workers pick up on my evident behavior. The last thing I need right now is to be in for a long day. 

"Hey, you okay?" Prentiss asked me. I shot her a wary look as I lifted my satchel off me and onto the chair I was about to sit in. 

"Yeah, why?" I asked, not yet noticing that we were now all waiting for Hotch to start the briefing for the newest case. Morgan eyed me too, piping up from his spot.

"You're never late."

"Have we started the briefing yet?" I was now getting more irritated by the minute. 

"Just about to," said Garcia as she walked into the room. Good. Now we can get started. 

"Then I'm not late."

"Oh, yeah, attention, intrepid BAU adventurers," Garcia starts. "the land of Bermuda shorts, white leisure suits, and sansabelt slacks requests your presence." Miami. Sunny. Hopefully. I have never been so happy to have my sunglasses with me. 

-

On the jet, I barely made it through talking about the case with everyone. I needed to do something. Anything to fix my head. Even if it was most likely temporary. I walked up, heading straight towards the coffee machine. I wasn't looking to have any. I just wanted the peace and quiet that came with the confined space. Then Ashley began walking towards me, concern written all over her face. If she's any good at profiling, then she must at least think she knows that's something's up with me. She hasn't known me all that long. 

"This the line?" I didn't hear her. 

"Hmm?" I asked, sounding dazed. She jumped back a bit. I must have scared her. 

"Um...uh, for coffee, sorry," Ashley apologized, a look of guilt lacing her smile. Only then did I realize that she thought I was busy making myself some coffee and she was being nothing short of polite, waiting her turn. 

"Oh, no. No. I'm just thinking," I said a little too quickly, my words meshing together as they left my mouth. I heard her laugh a little. A small part of me hoped that even if she did think she knew, she would also wait for me to ask first, and not insert herself into my personal life. 

"Aren't you always?" I let a smile creep up my lips at her words. I breathed out a small 'yeah' moving past her to head back to my seat. To let her know I was thankful for the small talk, I asked her a question I'm sure she must know I already knew the answer to. 

"Hey, what's the weather like in Miami right now?"

"I don't know exactly, but my guess--- 75 and sunny." 

We both shrugged our shoulders at each other as I watched her turn back to start making herself some coffee. I nodded, walking back to sit down. 

-

My headaches are only getting worse as the day goes on. I looked at a decapitated goat head. Got one. The sun hit my eyes just right even with my sunglasses on. Got one. At this rate, I was going to die before we track down this unsub. It wasn't until Morgan and I sat down with one of the locals that one of them started making some sense. At least, to me. 

"Victor was my best friend." The guy said as he was stroking his cat. "We were like brothers." 

"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Mercado," Morgan said, sympathetically. 

"He was sick for a long time, but he was finally feeling better," Mr. Mercado explained. 

"He was sick?" Morgan asked. 

"His men's part, down there. The cancer," he said as he took some beads that were around his neck up to his lips to kiss them. Penile Cancer. That's not something any male would survive without special treatment. 

"Where was he being treated?" I asked, silently hoping to stumble upon some useful information to help with my headaches. Mr. Mercado was quick to dismiss it though. 

"No, no, no. No doctors. They don't do nothing but make you worse." Oh, how I could relate to that statement. Now. Then again, being who I am, I've never once been a good patient. Never. "Throw radiation on you, poison you. He did his cleaning every day. That's why he was feeling better." Cleaning? What could he possibly mean by that?

"What do you mean by 'cleaning?'" I asked, hoping to get a straight answer. 

"He clean his head, his body..." As the man was telling me, he was showing me, maneuvering his hand to his hand then over his own torso. "But he got one of the Saints mad." Another headache set in, and next thing I know, the man is gone and Morgan is chatting up some of the staff. 

-

The next day isn't proving to be any better. Morgan and I go to visit a professor who may or may not know more on what religion our unsub is practicing. "Palo is a secretive religion," Professor Walker informs, "Very secretive, very hard to research. Mine will be the first academic work on the subject." This man seems to know an awful lot about our unsub. If I didn't know any better...

"Earlier you call it dark, but aren't all he African-based syncretic religions amoral? I mean, it can be used for good or evil, depending on the practitioner, right?" As I'm talking, I notice Morgan's eyes giving the professor a look I wouldn't wish on anyone. 

"They're nature religions," Walker said, his voice trying to remain cool and calm. "Nature knows no right or wrong, only balance and imbalance." Those words he said, unfortunately stuck with me. Whatever was causing my headaches, could it really be something as simple as an imbalance issue? That's truly one I'd never have considered before. 

-

The longer I'm stuck with Morgan, the more I wish I could have been paired with Seaver. I know Morgan, as well as the rest of the team, mean well, but Ashley hasn't known me for near as long and she's already let me know that she wouldn't push it if I never asked for it. Morgan would push it. Definitely if I never asked for it. 

Thanks to Garcia, we found ourselves back at that soup kitchen. The group was chanting something in a language I'd have to research, but they were getting louder and louder, and soon enough I could not only hear but feel the blood rushing through my ear drums. Just as they noticed us standing in the back, they quieted down. "We're with the FBI. We're not here to cause any trouble," Morgan says as he hold his gun in front of him. "But, Sir, please put that knife down." The man puts the knife down as asked, whispering to those around him before they begin to scatter. 

He walks up slowly to us, anger in his features. "This is a house of God. You have no right to be here." Now, I may not be religious by any means of the word, but even I know that the whole point in churches is to welcome anyone, both believers and non-believers alike. What Morgan and I walked into was not, in my opinion, a true house of God. 

"We just would like to ask you some questions." Morgan took a small step forward. "We'd appreciate it if you came with us voluntarily." As Morgan continued talking, I noticed the man was looking right at me. The same way he did yesterday. Almost like he knows.... "We're not here to create a spectacle." He continues to look at me as he responds. 

"I will go with you." He turns around and nods his head to the people who still stood behind him. As we made our way out the doors, they began chanting again. At least this time I don't have to stay and listen. Morgan and Julio, I guess his name is, walked ahead of me as we left. Once I put my shades back on, I kept hearing this clanking sound. I turned around and saw it. There right across the street. The very same one I had conjured while laying on the bed in the MRI yesterday morning. It couldn't be. Slowly, I lifted my sunglasses up above my eyes so I could squint at it. I placed my shades back down and began walking to catch up with them. 

-

Julio had now been sitting in the interrogation room for over a half hour. Just as Morgan got off the phone with Garcia, he spoke up. "This guy's been eyeballing the mirror since he got here. Let's see what he has to say." Just as Morgan started walking towards the room, I blurted out something. In this context, that doesn't happen often. 

"Wait, Morgan. I think maybe I should go in first." He turned around, giving me a ridiculous look. 

"What?" 

"Do you remember at the Community Center, he said he would come with me?" There had to of been a reason he had to look directly at me when he spoke. I couldn't help it. I wanted to see if there was anything this guy knew that could even potentially help me with this headaches. I was becoming more desperate than I ever cared to admit. 

"If they already have a rapport..." Rossi chimed in. 

"You want Morgan to come with you" Hotch asked me. I did. But I also didn't want to give any of them any more sympathy than they were already giving me, even if they didn't think I'd notice. 

"No, I'm alright. Thanks," I say, quickly as I grab the folder from Morgan's hand. As I opened the door, I silently thanked who ever kept the lights off in here. It kept the headaches at bay. "Hi, My name is Dr. Spencer Reid." I tell Julio as I take out the stills and lay them on the table for him to see. That's when I see it. It wasn't a doll in my hallucinations, it was actual human heads. These human heads. Shit. I sit down, trying to stay as composed as possible. "Did you know these people?" 

We exchanged a few words until I mentioned the nganda that the professor spoke of. This perked Julio's ear right up in front of me. "What do you know about Palo?" I just stared at him. I was pretty confident that Julio knew of Walker. I was betting on it. Julio leaned up towards me, a knowing look on his face. "This light...is no good. It gives you a headache." Just as he said it, I flinched. Damn it! Morgan burst in and began talking, and I heard him, but then Julio began tapping the table rhythmically with his fingertips. I couldn't pull my eyes away. 

As Morgan continued to lay on more words, Julio began chanting. What, I didn't know. I gave up, at this point, trying to turn away. If anything, in doing so couldn't be any worse than staying here. So far, the only part I didn't like was that I wasn't sure I'd believe it. 

-

"What the hell was that?" 

"I think we just witnessed a classic case of transpossession," I said to the officer. "Uh, it's a form of religion hysteria. He wholeheartedly believes he was being occupied by some form of deity."

"He wasn't faking it?"

I shook my head in disbelief. "Hmmm." 

"Up close you can see physiological signs," Morgan interrupted. "His body actually changed in response to the belief."

"There have been a lot of studies of this phenomenon. There was one case where an eighty year old woman was able to lift a grown man above her head when she believed she was occupied by her saint." As I glanced around the room, I couldn't help but notice how I lost my audience, just a little. 

"Detective, did you understand what he was saying at end?" Hotch asked. 

"Brother, look, I'm a Puerto Rican Catholic that grew up in Orlando. That wasn't any language I've ever heard," the detective said with a chuckle. Just then, I saw my window to speak up again. 

"I remember the words. I'm sure he'll be able to translate them." 

"You sure?" came Hotch's questionable tone. I had to turn back around to see his face. 

"That I remember them?" His voice remained stoic. 

"That you want to go back in." He said his words calmly and with good reason. 

"Yeah," was all I said. No, I wasn't one hundred percent sure I actually wanted to go back in. But, like I had told them, I remembered everything Julio had said. I needed to be the one to go back in. We needed to solve this case. 

I opened the door to the room Julio was still sitting in. "What happened?" he asked me. 

"You have no recollection?" I countered back. He shot me back a look of unsureness. 

"I remember talking about the lights." Ah, yes. The lights. The lights that were, in fact, hurting my eyes. He caught that. How did he know?

"You were talking about lights, and then you were talking about headaches," I said, as I sat down in the chair across the table from him. 

"That was my saint," Julio said. "You're lucky Ellegua spoke to you. What did he say?" And here came the part I had been waiting for. The reason why, yes, I did have to go back in here, regardless if whether or not this was what I wanted. Besides, I'd be lying if my curiosity wasn't piqued by all this. 

"Eggun buruku ni ki ori baje ni." Julio seemed to look as if he understood. 

"You have bad eggun on top of you that's spoiling your head." Well, that sure is a funny way to say that I'm suffering from migraine-like headaches. I continued. 

"Iche peraldo tete tete." Without breaking eye contact, he translated. 

"Do a cleansing quickly." A cleansing? What did he mean by a cleansing? I took a moment to wonder. 

"What are Eggun?" 

"Spirits of the dead." 

"Wh-why would you say th--"

"I didn't." Julio spoke, a stone cold expression across his face. 

"Well, why would your saint say they're spoiling my head?" Without wanting to admit it, I felt like I was getting somewhere with this. Finding more plausible answers than what the doctors bothered to tell me. Julio simply nodded at me. 

"Now, that's a question only you can answer." Seconds later, his face changed. Almost like he felt a draft in the room. "Something's wrong. Can you feel it?" I decided not to waste anymore time with him on myself. 

"Yeah. Four people are dead. I think maybe the fifth one is safe with you in here."

"No, he's not. Someone's about to get hurt. Listen with your heart, not your head." Before we could talk any further, Morgan came through the door. 

"Your helper, the kid that took over your ritual when we brought you in here?" 

"Elian." Julio answered. 

"My associates just found sale-weight heroin in his room. And a nganda." 

"Where is he?" Julio asked. 

"He's running," Morgan answered. 

-

After what seemed like another hour of back and forth, trying to get Julio to admit that Elian is our unsub, we were missing what was staring right at us the entire time. God, if I didn't have these wicked headaches, then I could focus more and I wouldn't be letting the team down and---"Thank you for your help," I caught myself saying. As I gathered up my papers, Julio spoke to e once more.

"Your head is spinning because it's full of ghosts. You think you can do this work day in, day out and you don't carry it with you?" He slowly shakes his head at me. "It's eating your soul." With that, he left. Morgan gave me a look. 

"Ghosts?" I simply walked past him, too. Choosing to ignore his obvious concerns. 

Once the idea of media was brought up, it hit me. It should have hit me in the face, sooner. Hotch told Morgan and I to hit the office. So far, none of us had found him. I wanted to look around more but Morgan wasn't having it. 

I remained upstairs, hoping to find something. My headaches started acting up, again. It was dark and yet, I was experiencing a seething shot of pain erupting in my brain for what seemed like every other second that passed. For what reason, I have no idea, but, instinctively, I managed to rid myself of my FBI vest. I kept my hands pressed to my eyes, somehow hoping that act alone would stop what I was feeling. It didn't. It couldn't. 

Then that vision of the house with the gate kept coming in flashes in my head. I opened my eyes, noticing the same house in a newspaper clipping, framed on the dresser. That was it. Next thing I know, I'm at the house, no vest, and no back up. Damn, these headaches are really messing me up. I opened the gate and walked in. Just as I noticed what was going on, the professor cocked his gun at my face. "You really shouldn't be here." 

-

"That doesn't make any sense," I said as I looked up at my doctor. I had the beads Julio gave me around my wrist like a bracelet. He said he no longer needed protecting...but that I do. 

"I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"So, there's nothing wrong?" I couldn't even pretend to sound the slightest bit convinced. I hadn't turned 30 yet. I was still within the age gap of becoming a schizophrenic. Like my mom. 

"Well, your scans are perfectly normal, and there doesn't seem to be any physical explanation for your headaches." I just continued to slowly shake my head in discontempt. Something was wrong with me. But what, I didn't know. And apparently, neither did my doctor. 

"Well, what do I do now?" 

"Well, have you considered...." he trailed off, like he wasn't sure of his own words. Well, that's very promising. 

"Considered what?" I was beginning to grow impatient, again. 

"A psychosomatic cause." Shit. No. That's definitely not it. 

"Psychosomatic?" 

"It just means a mental or emotional stress--" I knew what he meant. He was wrong. 

"I know--I know what psychosomatic means, Doctor, but it's not that." 

"Well, I think it's something we should consider." I'm considering requesting a different doctor next time. 

"It's not--I'm not crazy." 

"Crazy? Dr. Reid, I'm not saying---"

"Listen! I have headaches. I have intense sensitivity to light because there's something wrong with me...physically, not mentally. It's not that."

"That?" He questioned. 

"Listen Doctor, my mother's a paranoid schizophrenic who's been institutionalized, so I know, I know very well what mental illness looks like, maybe even better than you, and it's not that. It's not." God, I felt like a broken record. This conversation is no longer helping. I stood up and walked right out the door. 

-

knock, knock

I had fallen asleep on my couch. It wasn't for long, though. Looking at my watch, I only managed to get a wink's worth of sleep. And now someone was at my door at 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday. Still in my attire from earlier, I peeked through the peephole. Ashley. What the hell is she doing here? "Seaver, wha---what are you doing here?" I asked as I slowly went to unlock my door. As I opened it, there she stood, a bottle of wine in her hands and a sincere but sad smile across her lips. 

"Can I come in?" I nodded slowly, watching as she walked past me, setting the bottle down on my kitchen counter. As her eyes met mine again, I felt the small remnants of another headache lingering to the forefront of my mind. "I was uhh, thinking you could use someone to um, talk to, or to um, help take the pain awa--" For some reason, I didn't let her finish. My hands were searching her body as my mouth had closed any gap that had been between us. Just as I felt a fire ignite within me, the heat in my brain extinguished. How did she do that? Only then did I realize that she was making zero attempts to remove herself from me. I pulled away, touching my forehead with hers. This is wrong. But, I couldn't bring myself to ignore the serotonin levels now in my system, clearly helping ease my pain. "Spencer, I want to help. This doesn't have to mean anything," she whispered to me. 

With a forcefulness I didn't realize I had, I crashed my lips back onto hers. It seemed like the more I touched her, the less pain I felt. I couldn't describe it. When I heard Ashley's moans reverberating through my eardrums, I was done for. "Ash-Ashley, are you sure?" I managed to get out, slowly feeling all my cognitive senses dying in her mouth along with my own moans. This was an intoxication I had yet to experience. Sure, I thought she was cute, but this--this was entirely something all together different. And I needed more. 

"I'm helping out a friend," Ashley spoke as I felt her unbuttoning my shirt. "And, it's not like I'm getting nothing out of this," she continued, trailing open-mouthed kisses down my sternum. Quickly, I led us to my bedroom, tossing pieces of clothing from each of us along the way. Once I had her laying down on the bed, I wasted no time in lining myself up, groaning at the magnificent sight that she was already wet for me. 

"Shit, Ashley. God, you're so tight." And she was. As strange as it sounds, I'm silently grateful for whatever caused this woman to go thru her dry spell. It is doing fucking wonders for me. "Gah, fuck me!" Ashley started maneuvering her hips in a repeated motion, causing us both to involuntarily buck our hips towards each other. Right as I feel her about to climax, I pick up my pace just a touch, stimulating the nubs of her breasts with my thumbs as she tightens even more around me. Seconds later, I succumb, myself, pulling out and spilling my seed all over her bellybutton. Quickly, I reach over and grab a few tissues off my nightstand, cleaning myself off of her. After she's done in the bathroom, Ashley crawls back into my bed, a tired, but satisfied look on her face. "Thank you...for, uhh, helping me..you know, with my...issues." I knew there was a chance she didn't know I was having any, but she clearly felt something was up. 

Giving me a faint look of shock, she responded. "You have issues?" I chuckled a bit at that. 

"Well, don't we all?" I let myself collapse on the bed, my head nestled in my pillow. Without me having to ask, it seemed Ashley knew I was okay with her staying. She yawned, making herself comfortable in my bed. We didn't snuggle with each other the way couples usually do, instead, we remained on our respective sides, but allowed our hands to rest, touching. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. 

-

I hit my alarm profusely with my hand. As I peeled my eyes open, the flood of memories from the night before came rushing through my brain. Surprisingly, the headaches didn't. As I looked around me, I saw that I was alone. On my nightstand, a pad a paper and a pen were laid out. I reached out and grabbed the pad, knocking the pen on the floor. Ashley had left me a note. 

Glad I could help you out with those issues. 

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	6. Ashley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley gets the feeling Spencer's avoiding her. Until she gets a call in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Today I Do." Mentions of Sex.

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It's been just a little over a week now since I left to go take my exam at the Academy. That means it's also been just nine days since I slept with Spencer. I knew I could keep my cool, and not act as if we got to know one another intimately, while in front of our co-workers. I also was curious to see how he could act. For all I knew, Dr. Spencer Reid was the type to frequent the bars to pick up women. But, if that was is M.O. in that regard, then why did he agree to sleep with me? 

I shook the thought from my head as Garcia informed us about a new case. We boarded the plane pretty much immediately. "All right, Baby girl. Keep looking," I could hear Morgan say to Garcia as he hung up and took a seat across from the both Spencer and I were sitting at along with Rossi and Prentiss. "Garcia still hasn't found any overlap between Molly Grandin and Gail Langston's lives." 

"For two girls who didn't know each other, they had a lot in common," I spoke up. It was true. Their descriptions made me think they should've been best friends in the same sorority or something like that. 

"What's the first thing that jumps out at you?" Emily said, clearly trying to help me out with my already forming hypothesis on the matter. I should be more thankful she vouched for me. That woman is a godsend. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I continue. 

"Their body types are both small, but it's not just physical," I say as I see Emily nodding, approvingly, silently urging me to continue. "They both shy away from the camera and clearly don't enjoy being photographed."

"Both easily overpowered and controlled." Hotch put in his two cents, but it did sound like he felt I was going down the right road, which allowed me to further relax, believing even more so that I was cut out for this job just like the rest of them. 

"Well, at 25 they'd be much older than most undergrads at S.U." Morgan chimed in. 

"You know, their college transcripts are littered with incompletes and missed semesters." I had to suppress a chuckle growing in my throat. Leave it to Spencer to join the conversation with talk about academics. Every now and then, I did clock him looking at me, though he didn't appear to show any indication of what happened between us. I silently began to wonder if that was a one time thing. I just happened to be at the right place when he needed someone. I wasn't anybody special to him, in any capacity, I imagine. 

"Both from blue-collar backgrounds with no scholarship. Must be hard to keep up while working a full-time job," Rossi joined in as well. I could practically hear the wheel in Spencer's head turning. It was the same face I saw before, that night, when he was clearly debating on what did eventually happen. 

"So going to private school could have been worth it for appearances sake," said Emily. Since we were clearly talking in a circle I felt it was my turn once more. 

"If the unsub met them on campus, he could be another student." 

"He may not be a student," said Hotch. "He might be an employee. Janitorial staff, Security." 

"Uses a similar background to bond with the victims?" Spencer guessed. 

"They both packed bags to go away with them for the weekend. That trips romantic." Rossi said it, as if it was obvious. I didn't find it as such. Didn't look like the resident genius did, either. 

"Yeah, he's not just getting to know them, he's dating them," Morgan said, like a lightbulb went off in his head, just as Rossi finished his thought. 

"Prentiss, go to Molly's apartment. If she knew the abductor, there might be evidence there. Reid and Morgan, go to the dump site," Hotch gave the orders. I didn't hear him say my name. So much for feeling like a part of this team. 

"But Gail's body was found almost four months ago," I said, "Won't all the evidence be gone by now?" I looked a little helpless towards the end, staring at Reid. 

"You can actually find out a lot about an unsub by where they choose to leave their victims." Wow. He said it so, frankly. I pretended to be in deep thought over what he actually said and not what his eyes weren't saying...to me. I was thinking too much into this. Hell, I'm reading too much into this. 

"Yeah, Garcia, what do you got?" Emily spoke up a little louder. 

"Syracuse Police Chief Barrows brought a suspect in for questioning five minutes ago. His name is Lyle Donaldson." Knowing looks on everyone's faces formed. 

"Molly's ex-boyfriend," said Rossi, knowingly. As he said it, Reid turned his gaze from the Italian over to me. There it is. The first real indication he'd given me since I got back from the Academy. Too bad Hotch assigned him with Morgan and not me. 

-

I ended up being paired with Hotch and Rossi...again. Rossi was currently in the interrogation room with a potential unsub. Something Hotch said made me think about my dad, of all people. Serial Killers. Yeah, there's a word I never get tired of hearing but at the same time, do. 

Once we're all back together again to discuss our findings, Prentiss walks in with more news. "So, neighbors did see a woman coming and going from Molly's apartment over the last few months, but nobody saw her close enough to get a sketch." 

"And no one met her?" Reid chimed in from the seat next to me, though we were further apart than normal. 

"No. The best description we got was white female, mid 20s, light brown hair, plain." 

"Molly never mentioned a roommate to her father or coworkers," said Hotch, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

"Lyle didn't know, either." Rossi said as his eyes gave the file in front of him another once over.

"Is he still here?" I ask. 

"We couldn't charge him, so his lawyer walked him out." 

"Alright," Morgan cut in. "So we need to start over, go back over both Gail and Molly's cases and look at everything from the perspective of a female unsub." The more they kept bringing up a female unsub, the more I felt like it could fit, but it just didn't. And I couldn't answer why. So, I kept my mouth shut about that, silently agreeing to listen to everyone else, seeing as they've been at this job for longer than I have. 

"I'll bring in Gail's family and ask about the women in her life," said Rossi. 

"Prentiss, you and Seaver go back to Molly's apartment," ordered Hotch. While I still wish he'd put me with Reid, I can't argue that I'm going with Emily. It will be a nice change of scenery. "Find out what else she's hiding." 

-

"You know, this phrase doesn't seem to have a particular source or author," Reid spoke as he wrote said phrase on the white board in front of us. "It's found in pretty much every self-help book--I read twenty-two of them today--all touting the same basic three part plan." 

Today I do, Tomorrow I will. 

"Let me guess--phase one is positive thinking, visualizing goals." Rossi guessed as Reid stood there, marker still in hand. Emily gave the answer for the question Rossi asked without asking. 

"That's to work up the courage to get to phase two--taking real steps to achieve said goal."

"Gail committed to school, got grades like never before." 

"Molly gave up her obsessive food journal and started eating better," Emily said with quite the amused look across her face. 

"It's hard to believe motivational sayings alone would allow her to make these type of strides," Reid said, a bit of conviction in his voice. 

"Maybe that's why the unsub moved in with them." Emily pointed out. "She could offer support and encouragement day and night." 

I hated to admit it, but their whole female unsub theory was displaying some very concrete evidence. How am I ever going to prove myself at this job if I'm always running in the wrong direction? I'm caught up in my own thoughts that I missed what the rest of the team had said, including Spencer. 

-

"We were off on our profile," Spencer counters. Emily is standing behind me now, while Spencer is next to her while I sit in a chair near them. "She doesn't find her victims by chance like we thought. She hunts them." 

"Garcia. does Syracuse General keep their surveillance footage of the entrances and exits?" Emily asked Penelope over the phone. 

"Oh, in this age of black market pharmaceutical drug trade, you betcha. I can get you that." Emily's phone rings as soon as Garcia stops talking. Spencer and I share an incredulous look. I had to wonder? Did he tell Emily...about me? About...us? I am totally overthinking this. I just wish I could talk with him, get it all out in the open, it would definitely help me to not be so worrisome over what very well may be nothing. This is why I'm not really friends with girls. Or why I rarely date guys. It does things to my brain that make it hard to think rationally and logically. Maybe that's why Spencer seems to be the type that doesn't get attached. 

"Excuse me," I hear Emily say, pulling me out of my thoughts. I watch Spencer's eyes follow her as she walks away from where we were huddled. As Emily continues to talk into her phone, I see Spencer give her a look, almost like he knew something that she didn't want him to. Huh. I can see now why it's an unspoken rule that we refrain from profiling each other. 

-

"Hello?" I groggily answer my phone without so much as looking to check the time. 

"Sorry, Ash, did I wake you?" Spencer. I glance over at my clock on the wall of my bedroom. 2:08 a.m. Without really meaning to, the only thought to cross my mind was: this better not be a booty call. Huh. Dr. Spencer Reid calling me for a booty call. There's no way anyone would believe me. Hell, I wouldn't even believe me. 

"What? No...maybe a little. Don't worry, I was up not long ago cramming for my midterms. What's up? Everything...okay?" I try to sound as sincere as I possibly could, given that I was just woken up, and not in the best way. 

"Oh, geez, I'm sorry. I was just, I feel...bad that I haven't really talked with you since..." He just trails off and gets quiet. I really need to get some sleep tonight. 

"Hey, Spencer, look, if...it was only a one time thing, you know--the thing between us, it's okay. I promise, no hard feelings." I hear him let out a sigh on his end. 

"I--I don't know if it was, um, this...issue that I'm having, what we did, um, seemed to help," his voice skyrocketed an octave and I suddenly got what he meant. 

"Spence...you called me to see if I'd be willing to...come over?" More dead air sat between us. As I'm hopping out of bed, grabbing some clothes and toiletries, I let him know my decision. "I take your defining silence as a yes. Give me say thirty minutes? Oh, and you owe me a strong cup of coffee first thing when I wake up." I'm out the door and in my car. 

"Thank you." Two simple words. Oh, how they hold so much meaning when said by him. 

"No need to thank me, Spencer. Remember, I'm using you, too," I try and sound as light-hearted about our unique situation as possible. I hang up just as I'm pulling into his apartment complex. I sit for a minute. I debate whether or not I should mention that I'm aware of his headaches. I've seen it happen to some peers back at the Academy. I can only guess as to why Spencer's suffering from them. He doesn't have a whole lot of happy in his life right now. Sex is giving him the necessary serotonin and dopamine, but he needs more. As a friend, I feel I should do more to help, but..how? 

I push the thought aside by the time I make it to his door. He must've heard me because before I could hold out my fist to knock on it, his door swung open, revealing a very distressed looking Spencer, complete with dark circles under his eyes, and veins popping out near his temple. "Thank god you're here," is all he said as our lips crashed into each other, shutting the door and locking it behind us. 

\--------♥--------


	7. Spencer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer finds his and Ashley's 'arrangement' has done wonders for keeping his headaches at bay. So what's this feeling he has when she gives him a raincheck?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Coda." Mentions of Sex. Basic Criminal Minds case-related stuff.

\--------♥-------- 

Strangely enough, being with Ashley, it's helping ease my otherwise painful headaches. I picked up a textbook covering Migraines and have been trying to find the time to read through it without being under the watchful eyes of my coworkers. 

Now in the briefing room, we're all present, waiting on Emily to show up. She's late. Again. I overheard her talking about some woman named Lauren Reynolds. Told me she died. It seemed to sting when I asked. Sometimes I wish she'd trust me enough to open up a little. Especially lately. Though, I am oddly enough, finding solace with Ashley Seaver of all people. Guess I shouldn't be one to judge. 

"Traffic. I'm sorry," Emily says in a huff as she drops her bag and takes the seat next to me. Ashley had taken a seat next to Morgan, but across from me. I kept going back and forth between her and Emily. 

"Let's get started," Hotch says, eyeing Garcia. 

"Okay. Ten year old, Sammy Sparks, of Lafayette Parish, Louisiana, showed up at his elementary school this morning covered in blood. When police got to his house, they found that his parents, Charlie and Alison Sparks, were missing." 

"Well, forensics indicate that at least..." said Morgan. I caught bits and pieces of what everyone had said, noting that Ashley remained quiet. Why? Granted, she hasn't be a part of the team for all that long, but I thought she was becoming more comfortable, at least, at the round table. I guess not. 

"No one's talked to the witness, yet?" I asked. Inserting myself back in the conversation, I also noted that this Sammy kid, who clearly had evidence on him, had been ignored. 

"I don't understand. If Sammy was found covered in blood, there's a good chance he could identify the unsub." I guess Ashley must have been waiting for my contribution before she felt she could add her own. The Hotch finished with telling us all that Sammy is autistic. That would explain quite a bit. 

Before leaving to get on the jet, I had an inkling that I could connect with Sammy. I'm sure he feels so utterly lost without his parents. I would have felt lost without my mom, granted I experienced that more than I'd care to admit, even when she was physically there for me to hug. 

-

"Is that the one where they fly around in the phone booth?" Ashley asked me, after I pulled her aside to get some coffee, together. It kinda made me nervous to ask the dying question that just wouldn't leave my mouth: Do you see us as more than what we are? I know she kept telling me we just happen to be two friends helping each other out. That, what we were wasn't even necessarily what some would call 'friends with benefits.' Granted, regardless of our relationship status, I never pass up the opportunity to correct anyone. 

"First of all, it's a police box, not a phone booth." The look in her eyes, tells me I've lost her. Not a Doctor Who fan. Check. Though, oddly enough, this bit of knowledge is helping me come to terms with our arrangement. "Second of all, Doctor Who started a quarter of a century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventure, so, really, they should have just called it 'Bill and Ted's Excellent Rip-off." As I went to sip my coffee, noticing my mouth was suddenly dry, I caught the eyes of our coworkers, their smirks plain as day as they stared at me and Ashley. "I mean, at least then---" To my surprise, Ashley cut me off. 

"I'm really sorry," she quips. I'm stunned. Honestly, that did kind of throw me for a loop. 

"For what?" I asked as innocently as I could. 

"Asking." With that, she rolled her eyes at me, then turned to take her seat next to Hotch. I brushed it off as it was nothing, which I guess it was..and it wasn't. Definitely making a mental note to ask Ashley about it next time we are alone. That's when I found myself asking Will there be a next time? It is only because she knows of my headaches? Migraines? Whatever they are? I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the conversation pertaining to our case. 

"I hate to say it, but could Sammy be our unsub?" Ashley asked out of nowhere. I guess all it took was a slight argument with me and now she's finding her footing. Great. 

More was said, but I chose to drown it out, looking over the files in front of me, trying to find whatever the rest of them could not. 

-

Rossi and I go to meet Sammy Sparks. As we enter, I notice he's already got a crayon and a pad of paper on his lap. Took me back briefly to my own childhood. "Hey, Sammy. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. What are you drawing?" I see he's making L shaped lines all over the page. Before anything else could happen, the sheriff brings a hand tentatively to Sammy's shoulder. He screams. Then begins moving his body forward and backward in a constant motion. 

"Some autistic children don't handle touch well," Rossi spoke. He gave a look. He knew I could very well be on the spectrum, and that I, too, didn't care all that much for strangers touching me. I could definitely relate to Sammy. 

"It's possible that witnessing his parents' abduction pushed him into emotional overload and he shut down," I half-whispered to David. "Hey, look at that." I pointed to Sammy's drawing. More L's. No clue what it meant, but it clearly means something to Sammy. 

"Is he trying to tell us something?" I heard Rossi ask, the cogs in his head working like my are to try and figure out what it could possibly mean to an autistic ten year old boy. I look back over at him. I lick my lips, bending down to meet him at his level. 

"Sammy," I begin, hoping he'll allow me to get close enough to talk. "We're looking for your mom and your dad. Did 'L' take them?" I asked on a hunch. I watched in wonder as Sammy brought his crayon up in the air, making the same shape over and over, while looking away from me, almost like he's seeing something in his mind. 

-

"We don't really have special resources to accommodate children like Sammy, so he's in with everybody else," the school principal was telling us. 

"Can he comprehend the material?" asked Rossi, and we descended down the stairs outside the school. I kept thinking how autistic children tended to be far smarter than other would ever bother to give them credit for. 

"Not everything," said the principal. "You know, I've done my best to research alternative teaching methods, but there's only so much I can do." 

"Children with autism normally think very logically," I added. "Their minds can pick up patterns that ours normally wouldn't recognize," I say while pointing to my head. 

"Hm. Yes, that's right. I've found that repetition and routine are the keys to getting through to him." As the principal talked, something inside my head clicked. 

"You know, that makes sense. Repetition forms patterns on the brain, and as those patterns reoccur, it forms a calming influence on the child." 

"Which would allow new information to be retained," Rossi chimed in. "I'm sure Sammy's parents figured that out, too." 

"Yeah, his parents most likely kept him on a strict daily schedule," I said, following their trains of thought. 

"Oh, like clockwork."

"That's how Sammy was able to walk from his house to school yesterday. He'd memorized the route," said Rossi.

"Yeah, it's 7:45, time for him to go to school. He doesn't think to wait for his mom or dad. He simply grabs an empty lunchbox and heads here." The wheel is my brain are working like rapid fire. Sammy doesn't do anything by chance. 

"If Sammy was living on a strict routine, that means Charlie and Alison were, too." 

"Which would have only made them easier targets." Damn. I just hate it when we figure out the victims subconsciously make themselves easier prey for our unsubs. 

\- 

"I'm not sure how we're going to get through to him. Sammy's teacher says he's never been able to return his own mother's hug." For a split second, I couldn't imagine not being able to hug my mom during my childhood. 

"Garcia, what have you got?" Emily asks. 

"Oh, eee, I wish I could be more help." That's never a good thing when she goes and tells us that. "If this is about money, it would be a hell of a lot easier for me to give you a list of people who wouldn't need it and I'd probably save a forest in the process." 

The conversation went on, but I was feeling another slight headache coming on. I had switched doctors after hearing absurd theories from the last who I thought was a quack, but all this one could do was tell me they're referring me to a geneticist. One who is apparently on a vacation, but should get back to me soon, after they've looked over my brain scans.

Ashley is now standing next to me. I haven't had the chance to ask her why she cut me off so rudely on the jet earlier. I kept telling myself that she didn't mean it, but the look in her eyes told me differently. I caught her sideways glancing at me a couple times. Maybe we'll have some time later, depending on when and if we can catch this unsub. I decide to direct my attention back to the conversation. 

"....one of the parents as leverage to get the other to clear out their accounts," Ashley spoke up. I jump in as well, hoping I didn't give my inner thoughts away to her. 

"He's already shot Charlie. It shouldn't be that hard to manipulate Alison into doing what he wants if he offers medical assistance in exchange." 

"I-I think he just did," Garcia says, loud over the phone on speaker. 

Within the next ten minutes, we discovered that over ten grand was taken out, mostly likely by one of Sammy's parents. I looked at him over my shoulder. He had his favorite toy in his lap, looking like he just felt lost. I wanted so bad to be able to talk with him, to help him. 

-

After delivering the profile, Rossi and I met with Sammy's teacher. "Oh, he's been busy. What are those?" 

"We have no idea," I tell her as I follow into the room where Rossi is sitting down in a chair and Sammy is drawing tiny squares across his sketch book. "We're trying to find his aunt right now, but, we're hoping that maybe in the meantime you'd be able to help us get through to him." 

"Okay, I'll try. But, even before this happened, Sammy wasn't wild about talking," she says as she sits down in the seat next to the boy. His teacher gets a booklet from her purse, showing it to Sammy as Rossi looks by getting out of his chair. 

"What's that?" 

"These help some kids with autism learn routines."

"Ah, school bus leaves at 2:15." Rossi nods. So does the teacher. 

"Sammy, what's this?" She's holding out one of his drawings, the one with many 'L's everywhere. Sammy begins having a panic attack. He starts rocking back in forth in a vigorous manner. It's beginning to worry me that we're pushing him too far. 

"Do you have any idea what that 'L' might stand for?" I asked the teacher. 

"I have no idea. Sammy. Sammy, you're safe. It's me. Ms. Rogers. I'm here, Sammy. You're safe." She repeats its over and over, like its a mantra that's been taught to Sammy to listen for and understand when something bad has happened. After hearing Ms. Rogers say his name a few more times, he stops. Now, he's moving his fingers almost like he's playing on a piano. 

"I've never seen that. I don't know what it is." 

"Is he trying to type?" Rossi asks. 

"I don't think so," I mused. "I think he's trying to play something. Can we get a keyboard in here?" 

"There's a piano at his house," Rossi answers. 

"You want to take a 10 year old boy back to the crime scene where his father was shot?"

"Sammy's trying to tell us something," I explain to Ms. Rogers. "I think it's important we try to figure out what."

"Well, who decides whether the harm to Sammy's well-being is worth whatever information you may or may not get by doing such a thing?" Ms. Rogers stands up now, her gaze going back towards the door as Rossi's and mine follow. It's Sammy's aunt. "He's a child. And I don't think you get to choose what's best for him." I let my gaze fall down to my feet. 

Emily speaks up. "Everyone, this is Lizzie Sparks. Sammy's aunt." 

-

Rossi, Lizzie, Sammy, and I all go back to his parents' house. Sammy walks in, setting his wooden train on the grand piano, then taking a seat. 

"When was the last time you saw him?" Rossi asked the aunt. 

"On his fifth birthday." 

"Five years," Rossi said. Those two continued to have a conversation, while I decided to set my bag down and join Sammy at the piano. 

"Sammy, would it be alright if I sat here?" I asked him. Sammy looked up and away from me. I tried not to take it personally, and maybe he will try and play what he wanted to back at the station. I play a few random notes, hoping to coax him to play as well. Sammy lifted his right hand and began playing some scales. "Whoa. You've been holding out on me, Sammy." I looked back at him, his eyes still looking up at the ceiling. I play the same thing, but backwards. 

"I didn't know you could play, Reid," said Rossi. I almost forgot he was still here. 

"I can't. Well, I never have before, but it's essentially all math." The thought crossed my mind that maybe after this case is finished, I'll go purchase a keyboard myself. Seems like maybe another method I could use to ease the headaches I can't seem to get rid of. "Sammy, how about you play this note.." I move my finger to hit a middle octave B. "for yes..and this note," I hit a lower octave B next, "for no. Does that sound like something you could do?" 

Sammy moves his finger to the middle B and plays it. "Yeah, exactly. Just like that." I lower my voice to a whisper before I continue. "Now, Sammy, do you remember when the man came and took your parents away?" I look down to see which key he was going to hit. He played the key for Yes. Then he kept playing it, in time, and his hand went right into a melody. One I didn't recognize. His other hand joined, playing a beautiful song. The three of us were so mesmerized and taken aback by Sammy. "Sammy, I don't understand." I hoped that somehow, he could tell me, but I wasn't sure how he'd be able to. "Does this song mean something to you?" As I stopped talking, Sammy stopped playing. He brought his left hand down to my right. He grabbed it, and I watched as he brought my hand to the keys in the same place his had been just before. 

Sammy then brought his hand to the keys which were an octave higher, and began playing the melody once more. This time I watched, memorizing the key strokes and each note as he played. Soon enough my hand mimicked his and together, we played this lovely song. 

-

"Reid, take a look at this," Rossi called out, causing me to stop playing with Sammy. 

"What, at Sammy's flip book?" I was confused. 

"Not just a flip book. His routine. Shower. Brush teeth. Dress. His entire life is planned in order." In order. I mulled over in my head. Made me think back to what time it had to of been when Sammy's parents were kidnapped. 

"Maybe we can figure out where Sammy met the unsub." 

"He already figured it out," Rossi insisted, handing me the flip book.

As I'm flipping through it, I notice the clocks on each page. "Sammy sees his life in pictures." I shove the book back to Rossi. "He's been trying to speak with us, but he only knows how to communicate through symbols." I bend over, picking up a few of Sammy's drawings from earlier. "Look, it's his language. Anchors, like my socks," I say as I lift up my pant leg to reveal my colorful anchor sock. "And that's the tread on your shoes." I point to Rossi's shoe. 

"What does the 'L' mean?" Lizzie asks. 

"It's not an L," I state, simply, thinking back to the clocks on Sammy's flip book. 

"It's a time," Rossi catches on. 

"3:00. The time Sammy wants us to know about, the time that he met the unsub." 

"Where was he at 3:00?" Lizzie asks, again. 

"2:30, Music store," Rossi says. "He goes there everyday after school," I glance down at my wristwatch. I move the hands on it so that it says two minutes till three. "and he doesn't leave until the store closes at 6:00." 

"Hey, Sammy, Sammy, it's almost 3:00. Is there someplace you should be?" I ask, making sure Sammy can see my watch, the time on it, clearly. 

"Should be store," Sammy says. This was the first time he's talked the entire time we've been around him. That shows Rossi and I that he trusts us. Sammy grabs his toy and begins heading for the door. 

"No, no, let him go," Rossi says to Lizzie. "Hotch, I think we've got something." 

-

We discover that the unsub was Bill Thomas, a local fisherman who knew the Sparks. Thankfully, Sammy's mom survived. Like me, though, he's going to grow up with his father around, but for a different reason. 

On the jet ride home, I manage to get a seat next to Ashley. Everyone else is either asleep or far enough way not to be in earshot. "Hey, Ashley, I just, I just want to know that we're--that you and me are okay." Without really meaning to, I'd formed a bond with her. I just wanted to know that it wasn't necessarily all for nought. 

"Spencer, sorry I snapped at you earlier. I didn't mean it. I could just feel their eyes staring at us, you know? This team talks, do they not?" I let out an uncomfortable sigh of relief I hadn't realized I had been holding. 

"They do," I said. "You really knew about my, uh, headaches, didn't you?" She helped me far more than I'm guessing she realized. I needed to know. Ashley turned to face me now, looking me in the eyes. 

"I had a hunch," she smiled. 

"Hey, I, um, plan to go buy a keyboard after we land. Sammy played a song while Rossi and I were at his house. I looked it up. It's called Brother by the Road Hawgs. Anyway, I was wondering, would you like to join me? I mean, in learning how to play?" I would never ask for her to help me, except to ease the headaches, but maybe playing a soothing song would help. I also wouldn't mind the company. 

"I'm sorry, Spencer," Ashley says, guilt written across her face. "I kind of promised Rossi we could play on the Xbox. He told me earlier I need to find something to do to 'release all the tension' I clearly must've shown after studying for my exams all week." She laughed a little. I did too. If only Rossi knew how the two of us managed to engage in just the type of stress relieving activity. 

"It's no problem. Maybe some other time?" 

"Yeah, Spencer, some other time." 

\--------♥--------


	8. Ashley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley feels bad that the rest of their team doesn't seem to know about Spencer. In the meantime, she develops a close friendship with Emily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Coda." Mentions of Sex. Basic Criminal Minds case-related stuff.

\--------♥-------- 

That morning, I had only managed to get a little over a couple hours sleep. With Spencer's help, it did feel more like the five or six hours I had originally planned on. Normally, after waking up in his bed, I'd quietly gather my things and head home. Today was different. I had my bag over by his door, but, instead of getting up to retrieve it, I laid back, resting my head on my bed partner's chest. In that moment, I debated on whether or not I should wake him up so I can tell him that I know. Waving the thought away, I crawl out and get dressed, going to his kitchen to find something edible. 

"Hey," Spencer mumbles, sleepily. I stop what I'm doing. "I think I have some Pop-Tarts around here, somewhere...." I watch as he opens and closes his cupboards, in search of one of my favorite on-the-go breakfasts. "Aha! Found them!" He hands me a package, opening up one of his own and placing them in his toaster. "Coffee?" I nod, watching him begin to brew a pot. Without really meaning to, I open my mouth and found myself saying the darnedest thing. 

"Spencer, do you--do you think the team--that they know?" 

The last thing I know either of us wanted was for the team to read between lines that weren't even there. No romantic feelings. Nothing of the sort, really. But, they are profilers. I'm just surprised that no one else, especially Morgan, has caught on to his consistent headaches. "No, Ashley. I don't." Spencer sighed into his coffee. "Neither one of us have given them reason to suspect anything. I do still...feel like I'm using you." 

"Spencer, remember, I'm using you, too. You're not the only one who could use a little endorphin kick in their lives." I smiled up at him, hoping he got my message. 

"If I could find something else to make them go away...." He said it. This was it. This was my loophole. My ticket in to let him know. 

"I know. Spencer. About the headaches. I know," I nod. His face looked torn. Almost like he figured I knew, but was still shocked to hear me admit it. 

"How--how long?" 

"Since before we slept together the first time." 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Spencer's voice got rigid, but remained cool, and collected. 

"We don't know each other well, Spencer. I figured that, if you wanted me to know, you would tell me. On your terms." 

"Thank you." Spencer looks up at the clock. "We should head out." 

-

Sitting at the round table, I had a couple text books out, running my highlighter over various phrases I figured would be on the exam. Spencer offered to help me, but I told him I wanted to at least try and study on my own before coming to him for help. Thankfully, he didn't seem to take it too personally. 

This case seem to hit hard for all of us. A little boy, Sammy, had witnessed his parents being kidnapped. Spencer was with Rossi, trying to get jim to talk. For the most part, I was stuck with Emily, and occasionally, Morgan. 

While on the jet, Spencer and I were having an interesting conversation about Doctor Who. He had mentioned it to me before, saying it was something he'd like to watch with me, as the only other person who even cared about his favorite show was Garcia. Even though Spencer made it clear that no one on the team showed an suspicions as to why the two of us were talking together a lot, I still didn't want prying eyes or ears to hear or see something that wasn't there. 

"Is that the one where they fly around in the phone booth?" I asked him, trying to at least show him I want to be his friend.

"First of all, it's a police box, not a phone booth." I could only gape at him in utter disbelief. "Second of all, Doctor Who started a quarter of a century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventure, so, really, they should have just called it 'Bill and Ted's Excellent Rip-off." Feeling the stares and the unwanted rolling of eyes, I decided to nip their minds in the bud. I only felt bad for how Spencer retracted into himself at my next words. "I mean, at least then---" 

"I'm really sorry," I say, quickly. To be honest, the first thought to cross my mind was that as much as I did want to be Spencer's friend, I knew now that the two of us could never be more than what we have now. He deserves a girlfriend who would gladly listen to his rambles and who doesn't work, doing the job we do. 

"For what?" I could just hear the innocence in his voice. I really hoped I hadn't just smashed whatever friendship we were building between us. 

"Asking." I fell back towards the seats, shooting death glares to the rest of the team. I made a mental note to talk with Spencer the minute this case was over. 

-

"Well, it looks like they were open to alternative methods of payment," Emily sighed as the two of us were inside the Sparks' music store, trying to gather evidence. "There's some construction work for a child's drum set and cleaning services for sheet music." The town was hit with a flood, causing major businesses to potentially go under. 

"Bartering must be popular in a cash-strapped area like this," I murmured. As much as I would have liked to have been paired with Reid, Emily still clearly has a lot she can, and seems to want to teach me. At this point, I can sure take almost all the help I can get. I pointed to the camera just above us. "They have video surveillance, which is good news. Do you think the unsub was here?" I asked Emily. Seemed plausible inside my head as I thought it out. 

"It's possible. These guys like to scout their targets prior to abduction. They get off on the fact the victims never see them coming." 

"There's a lot they don't teach us at the academy," I smirked. Like I said, Emily had a lot to teach me and I was more than willing to learn from one of the best. 

"Experience handles the rest," she said, nonchalantly. I ejected the tapes, gathering them up to send them back to headquarters. 

"Let's get these tapes to Garcia," I mentioned to Emily. I guessed that most everyone on the team knew Spencer fairly well. They all seemed like a tight-knit family. But, he gave me the distinct impression that no one knew, except me, for obvious reasons. Feeling at a loss, I confided in Emily to an extent. "Hey, Emily?" I asked, as we were loading ourselves back into the SUV. 

"Yeah, Ash, what's up?" The way she asked me, it told me she was familiar with the tone of voice I used. I didn't want to betray the friendship, or whatever it is, that I have with Spencer, but if he's hurting, I want to help. 

"Has Spe-Reid, ahem, seemed off to you, lately, I mean?" I really hoped she didn't catch how I tripped over my words when I spoke his name. Emily just blankly stared at me for a good two seconds before talking back. 

"Well, Spencer, I haven't really noticed him acting off at all, actually, I mean, not since...." I got the feeling that she didn't care to finish that sentence with me. "Why do you ask?" 

"I uhh, I saw him rubbing his head earlier?" It came out as a question, because I really didn't want to flat out tell her I know he has headaches. But, I feel I needed someone to help me help him. "It's just, I mean, that one case, with the voodoo guy, his behavior just seemed, not normal for him, I guess." Emily chuckled a little. 

"Oh, Seaver, if you have a crush on Reid, just say so." 

I don't. But, if she knew everything, I can see how she would arrive at that conclusion. I just hoped she chose to keep this information to herself and not share with a certain doctor. "I don't, Emily, but I do consider him a friend since I've been here. I just want to help." 

"I'll ask him. Won't mention the concern came from you. If it's anything like...before...then I think I know just what to ask to not make him feel suspicious. Okay?" A relief came over me. 

"Okay, thanks Em." 

-

"Look at these drawings." Emily said as she walked past a desk riddled with crayons and doodles on construction paper. "This must be Sammy's desk. Alison and Charlie really went out of their way to accommodate Sammy's condition. He must've come here after school every day." 

I couldn't help but feel a little envious of Sammy. He had two loving, dedicated parents while I barely had one. And the one who stayed wasn't exactly of the loving type, at least, not in the normal sense of the word. "So he was a fixture. Not just in the store but in he community."

"It's no wonder the Sparks had to take out a loan. They put all of their money into helping their son." 

"Such dedicated parents," I mused. If only the rest of us were just as lucky. "What happens to Sammy if we can't find them?"

"Uh, Garcia's searching for relatives now. If she can't find anyone, then he will be turned over to the state, and he'll be placed in a special needs foster facility." I felt my face fall as she spoke. I didn't want to think of the possibility that we won't find his parents alive, having what Emily just told me to come true. She must have seen my face before she continued. "Let's make sure that doesn't happen." We both nodded, continuing to try and figure out who the unsub could be. 

-

Back at the sheriff's station, Emily and I caught up with the rest of the team. I decided to stand near Spencer, hoping he wasn't overthinking our conversation on the jet, earlier. I imagined he has, though, all day. While Garcia was talking, I let my mind wander to what Emily has said before. A crush? Me? On Spencer? No. The more I thought it over, the more I was happy in my solidified conclusion. Spencer is using me to help relieve his headaches, and I'm using him to keep my sex drive from crashing. Perfectly plausible. 

I heard Emily say something about a bank, so I gave Spencer a last minute glance, then hurried off after her towards the SUVs. 

-

Still no closer to figuring out who the unsub is, we all head back to the hotel for some much needed shut eye. I wanted to go knock on Spencer's door, but he had doubled up with Morgan and I was rooming with Emily. Now wasn't the time, I decided. On the jet ride home. 

The next morning, Hotch still paired me off with Emily, but Morgan tagged along with us, this time. "Hey, so the shop owner gave Alison Sparks 25 grand," Emily said to Morgan. 

"She wanted 30, but the owner balked." I said, trying to figure out how to connect our information to get closer to our unsub. 

"She's got 25 from here, 10 from the bank. He's up to 35, but he wants 40.Why is that the special number?" 

"We should call Garcia and have her run those numbers against the list she compiled of local residents and foreclosures," Morgan said, Emily's phone ringing as he spoke. "See if anything matches up." 

"Okay, I'll call her right now," Emily said as she brought her phone to her ear and walked off, away from Morgan and I. I prayed nothing weird was going on with her, too. For what seemed like such a tight knit family, they sure kept their secrets as secret as they possibly could. 

"Seaver," Morgan said, directing my attention over by the dumpster. He bent down, and with a blue rubber glove, and picked up a crowbar. "Well, what do you make of that?" 

"It looks like it was used as a weapon." I said. It looked old and rusty, probably been used a lot, like Morgan, I, too, was curious as to why it was simply lying next to the dumpster instead of inside it. 

"I'm betting this belongs to our guy," Morgan continued his thought. "You see how it's rusted at the hook end?" He asks, pointing with his other hand to the hook end of the crowbar. I nodded, but couldn't fathom what exactly he was getting at. 

"Give me a hint." 

"It's an old fisherman's trick." Ah. So, we're looking for a fisherman. Great. That surely narrows it down for Garcia. "You can use the crowbar to hook crab traps and shrimp catches out at sea."

"It's probably pretty common around here."

"Yeah, but outside the same store Alison Sparks was last seen? Our unsub is definitely a fisherman." Morgan said with confidence. I was now inclined to agree. 

"Got it. Hey, Morgan, um, you know Reid well, right?" I hated myself for bringing up something that wasn't my story to tell, nor about me, but a friend I cared about. Morgan looked at me funny, similar to how Emily had. 

"I'd like to think so, but Pretty Boy can answer that for you, himself," he said with a chuckle. 

"Does he seem...off, to you?" I hesitated. 

"No, why do you ask?" Not beating around the bush, I see. Okay. 

"Nothing, just, nothing, I'm sure I'm overthinking it. Thanks, Morgan." I patted him on his chest, making my way back to the sheriff's office. 

\- 

On the jet ride back, Spencer and I talked and we were able to convey our honest feelings about our rather unique relationship. I was able to let him know I didn't necessarily mean to react so harshly the other day, and he, again, expressed how he felt bad for 'using me.' 

Before we got off the plane, he asked me if I wanted to go with him to buy a keyboard and learn how to play. The sentiment was nice, but I had promised Rossi to beat him at some Xbox racing game. It was nice to have the chance to bond with the rest of the team, outside of Spencer. Surprisingly, Rossi only managed to beat me a few times. 

Once I was home, I felt a little sad that Spencer never texted me. If nothing else, it would've felt nice to know that he was okay. I decided to shoot him one, myself, before placing it on my nightstand and turning off the light. 

Ashley📱: Hey, Spencer. Just checking in. Let me know you're okay. Goodnight. 

\--------♥--------


	9. Spencer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer notices Emily acting weird. He confides in Emily about his headaches, but not about Ashley. The team works to save Emily from Doyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Valhalla," and "Lauren." Mentions of Sex. Basic Criminal Minds case-related stuff. Major Character Death.

\--------♥-------- 

My headaches have been on and off for a while now. Just when I think they've gone away, they hit me like a freight truck. I hate that I'm using Ashley like this. I know she keeps telling me it goes both ways, but I can't fathom exactly what she is getting out of it. 

Today's case doesn't make much sense. We've got an arsonist who isn't necessarily sticking to a clear pattern. The may already be devolving. Ashley and I are currently trying to work on the geographical profile, but not with much luck. 

"There is no history of any kind of psychological weirdness with either family," Garcia said as she walked in towards where I was sitting, going over the folder for what felt like the hundredth time. "They were healthy, happy, fit..."

"Until last night," Ashley finished. Garcia now sat down next to me. "Any signs of financial stress?" 

"No. The were healthy on that front, too," Garcia answered, as she whipped out her laptop, clearly ready to do some of her tech savvy magic. 

"What's with the..." Ashley trailed off, definitely referring to Garcia's computer about to be put to work. 

"Oh. The heat is out in my lair. Not a single snowflake has fallen, at yet the weather remains the top news story."

"Nothing about these cases?" I hear Ashley asks. I'm surprised that neither woman has even bothered to realize I'm still sitting here...pretending to read over these files. I feel like I'm involuntarily eavesdropping. 

"No. They're bound to get hip to it. Once our presence is felt and we connect the cases, it'll be a Ballroom Blitz." I decide that I've had enough with being ignored. 

"Hmmm," I hum, drawing four eyes over to where I was still sitting. 

"What is it?" I like that Ashley knows me well enough now, to understand that me just humming means my brain has been working at even half its normal capacity...and that I've usually got something of sustenance to add. She leans is closer, her eyes look completely engaged to whatever was bound to come out of my mouth. 

"You know, considering the time these fires occurred, the habitual patterns of both families were in direct conflict with where the bodies were found." 

"The master bedroom," Ashley said. I could hear the cog wheels turning inside her head. Is that what it's like to be around me all the time? I wondered. 

"Yeah, normally Lauren Cosenza would be downstairs helping her son with his homework, and Ron wouldn't even be home from work yet." 

"What about the Fagans?" Now, I gathered, Garcia must feel the way I felt earlier. Existing without contributing. Though, I imagine she is far too engrossed in her tech work to be simultaneously keeping up with our conversation. 

"Their routines were less established--they traveled a lot. But they were expected at a dinner party last night." 

"If someone did this, what are the chances these victims are random?" Garcia asks. I guess she wasn't as engulfed within her computer as I had previously thought. Well, that was news to me. I raised my eyebrows, turning back to Ashley. 

"Probably not as likely as we thought." With that, Garcia took off to find Morgan and Emily. Ashley went back to the board, her inquisitive face on full display. 

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked. She looked back up at me, then let out a heavy sigh. 

"I'm fine, Spencer. Just..I don't know. How are your headaches?" Without thinking I flung a hand up to her mouth. 

"Shh...keep your voice down, Ashley. Please." She nodded, liftingon of her hands up to remove mine from her mouth. 

"Sorry, just...wait. You still haven't told anybody else?" 

"No, the last time word got out about something similar to this, I was almost kicked out of the BAU. I can't risk it again." Though, with Ashley's help, these headaches have been far more easier to take care of than my addiction had been. Meetings helped with that. No way they would help with this. "Look, they are...getting better. They happen less often since...." She nodded, again. Ashley smiled up at me. 

"Happy to help, now, help me figure out our unsub's next move." 

-

Clunk!

I practically jumped out of my seat. I was back at my desk, still pretending to look over the case files. After talking with Ashley, it was like karma had reared its ugly head at me, and now I have a headache that I can't seem to get rid of. 

"I'm sorry," said Emily. 

"I thought you were in there," I said as I nodded my head toward the office room where I had been earlier with Ashley and Garcia. Emily must have picked up that something was off with me. I could practically feel it in her voice. 

"Are you okay?" That's the second time someone has asked me that today. 

"Yeah, I'm-I'm--I'm sure these victims overlap somehow." I had been trying, too hard, to find the connections with the information given in front of me. It was like the more I talked, the more pain I would continue to feel in my head. "Garcia pulled their phone numbers, but so far I can't find anything." 

"You just jumped." She said it with such confidence, I paused. Maybe Ashley is right. Eventually, someone else would see it and be concerned for me. I'm glad it was Emily. I gave her a half smile. She cares enough about my well-being to put a pin in the case, for now. I complied. 

"I've been having these really intense headaches lately." Obviously, I was not about to tell Emily at all about Ashley's involvement. She and Emily have been getting close since it was Emily who took Ashley under her wing when Hotch was debating on whether or not she belonged on the team. I'm very thankful to Emily for that. 

With genuine concern written all over her face, I'm even more confident I can continue to trust her, at least, with this. "Have you seen a doctor?" Have I seen a doctor? Yeah, the quacks who all say that its nothing, or that I'll end up just like my mother. I scoffed a little at her question. 

"Yeah, a few. None of them have been able to figure it out." An uncomfortable silence filled the space between us. I could see the recognition pass over Emily's eyes. She understands my fears about this. One thing I probably will never tell Ashley. 

"Oh. I'm...sorry." Now, I could see a hint of guilt in her face. "Does anyone know?" I wanted to tell her that Ashley knows, but then she'd ask me why I would confide in the new agent and not her. I couldn't do that to her. Especially with everything she's ever helped me with. 

"You." I say it with every ounce of sincerity I could muster. More uneasy silence. 

"I won't tell anyone." Emily says with complete reassurance. I believe her. 

"I know. They'd just worry, you know, not that you're not gonna worry, but they'll just make me feel like a baby." I let out an awkward laugh. It's true. Being the youngest on the team does have it's drawbacks. Even Ashley is older than me, not by much, like J.J., but still, older than me. "You know?" 

"I do," Emily says, nodding. I decide to change the subject. 

"How about you?" If I've been acting unlike my usual self, well, I could say the same thing about her. I'm just glad that I've notice the others catching on, overlook my off-putting behavior. 

"I'm good," she lied. She should know by now that any of us should be able to decipher if one of us is lying or not. Just a habit of the job. 

"You've uhh, been picking your fingernails, again." It's true. She has. She first started doing it back when she caught on that I was showing signs of being an addict. This time, though, I got this inkling feeling that her behaviour had absolutely nothing to do with me. Emily scoffed, breaking eye contact with me. She hated being found out. 

"Yeah," she sighed. 

"You only do that when you're stressed." I told her matter-of-factly.

"It's just a bad habit." I glanced back down at the papers sprawled out on my desk. I'm sniffling, trying to pull myself from the brink of crying. I can't do that. Not now. Not here. Though, as my eyes roll over my notes, I caught something. 

"Aha." I move to get out of my chair. "You coming?" 

"Yeah, I'll um, be there in a minute." Emily give me a sad smile. I walk towards where the rest of the team were. 

-

Over the next couple of days, we got a name. Ian Doyle. His name seemed to cause a reaction in Emily. I tried not think too much into it. As predicted, my head began hurting again, so I took a walk around the building to clear my head. One of the few doctors I had mentioned to Emily recommended I allow for my brain scans to be sent to a geneticist who might be able to figure out what they can't seem to. I still haven't decided if it's worth pursuing. I know I should. What Ashley and I have been doing can't continue forever. 

As I'm making my way back to the round table room, I pass Emily. She just came out of the copy room with a single piece of paper in her hand. Assuming it had something to do with our case, I ask. "Hey, what's that?" 

"Uh...oh. This is the only lead I have so far. What about you? Seaver said you were looking for photos of uh, Doyle's Tuscan Villa?" I had been. Before my headaches were getting to be too much, thus the walk I took. 

"I couldn't find any stills from the day he was arrested, but there may be some surveillance footage from the sedans. They generally record everything." As I started walking in the direction I had been, initially, Emily gave me that look. The one where I say something that either didn't make a lick of sense to her, or where she just learned something new. 

"Yeah?" I simply cocked my head in her direction, nodding, as I made my way towards the door. 

-

"All with the initials L. R." Seaver stated. We figured out that a man, Ian Doyle, was behind all this. He's killed more and we are trying to pinpoint the remaining potential victims. 

"The CIA uses cryptograms like that to assign to non-official cover agents working the same case," Hotch continued. 

"So do other foreign countries. These last four names are covers--spies," Morgan showed us, using his pencil to point to where the names had been typed. 

"Wait," Garcia swiped the paper out of Morgan's hand to look it over again. "No, this isn't right. Do you see this space? That shouldn't be here." 

"Could it be a formatting error?" I asked. It's not uncommon, but it made sense. 

"No, this is a spreadsheet template," Garcia further explained. "Formatting doesn't allow for this. The-there's a missing name on here," she finishes as she keeps a finger pointed to where another name with the initials L. R. should be. 

"It's another spy whose cover is L. R." Hotch deduced. 

Suddenly, I had a flashback to when I was having one of my worst headaches, Emily being there, picking at her nails out of habit. 

"Lauren Reynolds is dead..." I kept hearing it on repeat. 

"Lauren Reynolds is dead," I said, out loud. 

"What?" Hotch turned around, bemused at my immediate guess. I repeated myself, louder. 

"Lauren Reynolds is dead. Prentiss said that on a phone call seventeen days ago. But, her intonation wasn't surprise or grief," I began rambling, feeling uneasy, putting the puzzle pieces together that we all should have seen...before it got to this. "It was like a mantra, like she was reminding herself. Lauren Reynolds. L. R."

"If Prentiss is the last name on that list," Ashley spoke up, "she's on Doyle's list, too." My friend was in danger, and she was clearly not looking to involve us, or at least, it seemed she kept trying to keep us in the dark as long as possible. 

"That explains her behavior the past month," Rossi spoke, his voice showing his realization, too. "The secrets, the evasion." 

"She's been biting her fingernails again, too," I said, repeating details I noticed, even commented on, not yet realizing what it all meant. 

"Guys..." Hotch didn't sound at all with hope. He held out Emily's badge and gun. 

"She left her badge and gun? Why would she do that?" Morgan asked. I wanted to know, too. 

"Th-that doesn't make sense. Why run? We're her family. We can help," I felt the tears begin to form in my eyes. I flashed Ashley a look, thankful she returned it. 

"Doyle's killing families," Rossi had a fair point. None of us were good to her, dead. "She's not married, not close to relatives. He was ready to wipe us out. She ran to protect us." 

-

Hotch told all of us to go home and get a good night's rest. I didn't see myself getting any of that. I wanted to call Emily, but Rossi was right. She's protecting us. I should let her. Before leaving, I overheard Hotch and Rossi mention to Garcia that J.J. was going to be tapped to come in and help us get to the bottom of why Emily was under cover going by Lauren Reynolds. 

I wasn't currently experiencing any headaches, but I just didn't feel like being alone, either. I pulled out my phone, sending Ashley a message, hoping she was still in the parking lot. 

Me📱: Hey. Could I ask you to follow me home, tonight? No headaches. I just don't want to be alone. A couple minutes passed and my phone dinged. 

Ashley📱: Yeah, Spencer, sure. I'll bring some snacks. 

I needed to talk with her. Our relationship is the first sexual one I've had where I'm not entirely sure what label one would put on it. I didn't need one, but I wasn't sure what she thought about it, and I wanted to find out. I felt we both needed to find out. 

About an hour later, I'm at my apartment. I want to call Emily. I got so far as to have my phone out with her number showing, ready to hit the call button. I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't. Ashley still wasn't here yet, so I opted to call J.J. instead. 

J.J.📲: "Hey, Spence, I know you need to talk with her. We all do." I had to wipe my eyes with my fingers to keep the tears from falling. 

Me📲: "Ha-have you talked with her? At all?" Even if the answer was yes, I would be grateful. A little hurt that Emily still won't talk to me, but glad to know she talked to someone. Anyone. 

J.J.📲: "I'm sorry, Spence. I haven't talked with her in over a week. I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth. Just...get some rest, okay?" I could hear the sincerity in her voice. It was oddly comforting. Before I was able to say goodbye and hang up, Ashley knocked on my door. J.J. heard it. "Spence...who's at your door?" I know she was both curious and protective, but I decided to tell her the truth. 

Me📲: "It's uhh, Ashley. Seaver. The new agent." Even in light of everything going on with Emily, leave it to J.J. to be more like Penelope in this moment. 

J.J.📲: "My replacement, huh? You know, Penelope told me you let it slip to her that you thought she was cute." I rolled my eyes as I opened my door, silently telling Ashley I was on the phone and to just make herself at home. 

Me📲: "Funny how word travels fast. Thanks for listening, J.J. I'll see you tomorrow." 

J.J.📲: "Spence, we'll bring her home, safe. I promise." 

Me📲: "I know. Goodnight." I hit 'end' and set my phone down on the coffee table. 

"So.." Ashley trailed off. I soon realized this could get very awkward. If it hasn't, already. 

"Yeah, um, I just...I wanted to know if she'd heard anything from Emily...that's all," I said, sitting down on the couch next to Ashley. 

"Spencer--just, um, have you ever been, well, uhh, friends with benefits, you know, with anyone...before me?" The answer was no. 

"Ye-yeah, it just, it had nothing to do with headaches," I stuttered. Her face softened as she reached out to open up a bag of chips that she brought. 

"It's okay with this is..you know, the first," she said as I watched her pop a chip in her mouth. "I've only done it once before...and I never actually once considered him a friend." I frowned at that. 

"Ashley, if he wasn't a friend, then how were you 'friends with benefits?'" It was a vaild question. 

"I slept with him after only meeting him an hour before in a bar. We didn't hang or anything. But, for about five or so months, everytime we'd see each other at the same bar, we wound up in bed together soon after," she sighed. "It's definitely not something I'm proud of, but I learned from it." I felt bad that she went through that. "Hey, look, you and me, I see us being friends. Our relationship isn't just about sex. And, as long as we continue to be on the same page about that, I see nothing wrong with it. Just uhh, don't fall in love with me. You do that and it might end badly for you," Ashley winked over at me. I laughed a little at that. 

"Sounds like we are on the same page," I nodded my head. With that, we watched a couple of movies, talked some more, and were simply there for each other. It was...nice. 

The next morning, I was surprised to see Ashley still asleep next to me. I took a look at my alarm clock. It was only 6:32 a.m. I got up to go make some coffee and hop in the shower. While in the bathroom, I heard my bedroom door open and close. After getting dressed, I was glad to find her in my kitchen, drinking the coffee I made. "You, uhh, need a ride to work?" Ashley gave me a weary smile. 

"Sure, as long as you don't mind.." 

"I wouldn't. I'm offering." 

-

We discovered that Emily was working deep undercover with Doyle. So much so, that she was sleeping with him to get close...to do her job. It made me wonder if there was anything else we didn't know about her. Regardless, she's still our friend, one who needs all of our help, now more than ever. On the jet, we continue to discuss Emily's infiltration. 

"...she's lucky the three people inside didn't die," Morgan said from his seat. "Is anybody else bothered by that?" 

"Well..." Rossi spoke up, "three bad guys." 

"Illegal as it is, I think Prentiss knows she has to be as ruthless as Doyle," Hotch said, stoically. 

"He's come to the U.S. to wage a public vendetta and hired a group of mercenaries to remain loyal to him," I informed. "He has nothing to lose, so she has to act the same way." As I said those last words, I realized what I said was right. Emily knew she couldn't tell us. I chose to believe she wanted to and would have otherwise. 

"So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?" Rossi asked. 

"Well, the mole must have told him, right?" J.J. interjected. "The same guy who's been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents?" 

"And our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash," Ashley said. "How do we get Easter to talk? He won't cooperate willingly." She turned her head towards Hotch.

"I'll handle that. The rest of you focus on Doyle's location." 

"I hate to be the one to ask this...but, how long does Emily have?" Garcia looked like she was on the verge on tears. For someone who insisted on filling her many screens with pictures of dogs and cats after getting too good a look at crime scene photos, she was the first to ask the question we were all thinking, but none of the rest of us wanted to ask. 

After a long enough pause, Hotch answered. "Her best chance is also the most troubling. Doyle saved her for last because he views her as his stressor. Which means he'll take his time." I swear any of us could hear glass shatter at Hotch's last words about Emily. We need to save her. A moment of utter silence swept thru the jet. There wasn't a dry eye in the cabin. 

-

"Why were you calling Clyde 'Easter' so much, Jack?" Rossi asked. The two of us were in an interrogation room, trying to squeeze as much information out of him as possible. 

"Anybody got a smoke?" Jack asked, visibly wincing at how his ear must hurt right now. "How about you, beanpole?" Beanpole. Meh, I've been called worse. 

"What do you think?" Rossi turned to me, the both of us clearly ignoring the man sitting at the table in front of us. 

"Narcissism masking deep-seated insecurity," I said in a hushed tone, knowing I was still being heard, clearly. 

"So, if we puncture his self-image," Rossi continued, matching my volume, "this...hood rat will talk." Hood rat. Nice one, Rossi. 

"Heyheyhey, I ain't no hood rat," Jack spoke up, "You take that back." 

"Well, you look like one. You smell like one," Rossi talks as he slowly walks towards Jack. Then he turns back to me, a serious look on his face. "You smell that?" 

I turned my nose up to the air and sniffed. With my arms crossed in front of me, I answered. "Hood rat." 

"I am not! Take it back!" 

"Hey, Jack," Rossi spoke, getting real close to the guy. "Do you know what a hood rat is?" Jack remained silent. "You see what I mean?" Rossi turns back to me, slowly shaking his head, much like in defeat. "He's just gonna have to learn the hard way." 

"Alright, alright...look. Clyde was gonna pay my medical bills, alright? This ear," he says as he point to the bandaged appendange, "it ain't growing back." Smart hood rat. 

"What happened to it?" I asked, choosing to see if I can get him to talk even more. 

"This bitch teammate of his shot it. Said it was a warning." Rossi and I immediately knew who he was talking about. "Thought she could take on this I.R.A. big shot named Doyle. So, I told these----aahhh!" Rossi grabbed Jack's damaged ear and pulled on it. "What the hell, man!! Geeez!" 

"Where's Prentiss?" Rossi was no longer playing 'Mister Nice Guy.' 

"Who? I don't know!" Jack squirmed, Rossi yanking a bit harder on that ear. 

"Lauren Reynolds," I said. "Where is Lauren Reynolds?" I watched realization hit him. He now had the face of a man who figured he had leverage over us. 

"Oh...." was all he whispered. "Friend of yours, is she?" I think it's safe to say that both Rossi and I wanted nothing more than to smack the smirk right off Jack's face. 

"You tell us where she is right now, or I swear, I'll send you to a prison where they'll teach you what a hood rat is." Rossi threatened Jack. All he did was nod. 

"And by the time you do, she'll be in pieces. So, uhh, my price just went up." Idiot. I knew it. the hood rat believes he has the audacity to bait us. And there was that stupid smirk again. 

\- 

"200,000?" I head Ashley ask Hotch while we were all waiting to see what to do about Jack. 

"What other leverage to we have?" 

"Is he an addict?" Ashley asked, probably catching the man's twitches, like he needed a fix. 

"He's having a nicotine fit," Rossi confirmed. "We wouldn't let him smoke." 

"We could use that. He'd relax, open his big mouth." The woman had a point. 

"Is that enough?" Hotch asked, concerned. 

"Well, I'm pretty good with narcissists," she stated, glancing away from Hotch for a second, before turning back. "Dated a few." My thoughts immediately went back to our conversation last night. Hopefully, when this is all over, we can go out for a drink as a team. I let that thought sit in my head for a minute. Wherever you are, Emily, I hope you're alive. 

-

"Hey, you got a new shirt?" I asked Ashley, when she and Rossi joined us in the round table room. 

"Oh, uhh, yeah, it's nothing," she brushed it off. I made a mental note to ask her about it, later. We were all standing around, listening to one of Lauren Reynold's friends, Clyde, speak. 

"Ian Doyle's a power-assertive psychopath, highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn't go as planned." 

"Okay, so how does this fit in with who he is as a family annihilator?" Ashley asked Clyde. 

"And Prentiss' role in it," Rossi added. 

"Annihilators have a romanticized view of who their family is," I joined in. 

"Well, actually, he was an orphan," Clyde said, like he wasn't sure where we were going with this information. 

"Well, they think of family as their possession, until some law shatters that and starts them killing," Morgan informed him. 

"But, Doyle was never married." 

"Children?" Rossi asked. Just because Doyle never married didn't mean he didn't have a kid. 

"No," Clyde answered, all too quickly. 

"You run your profile that he carried out his murders with surgical-like precision," I said. 

"Yes."

"With no collateral damage?" Morgan asked. 

"That's right," said Clyde. 

"Perhaps this child was a surrogate for one he had," thought Rossi. 

"Say Doyle had a child and you didn't know about it," said Ashley. "Is it possible that Prentiss did?" 

"Well, then why would she keep it from me?" Clyde asked. 

"Who else was in the compound the day that you arrested Doyle?" Hotch asked. 

"Just his staff." 

"All Irish?" Hotch pushed. 

"Yeah." 

"That's a start." 

-

I didn't want to think about the thought that kept circling around in my head. The thought that we weren't fast enough. Not smart enough. Just...not enough. Morgan got there as fast as he could, but the look on his face said that he didn't even think he was fast enough. 

I paced around, endlessly, in the waiting lounge. Rossi and Ashley were there with me, along with Hotch, Penelope, and Morgan. I had my seventh cup of coffee in hand, feeling it shake while I tried to calm my nerves down, keep my cool; at least, until we got some news. As time went on, I eventually sat down next to Garcia, all of us silently coping with the very real possibility that none of us will ever see Emily again. 

After what felt like f o r e v e r, J.J. walked in the room, giving us all an uneasy look. We all could see the tears as they left her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. Fuck! NO! NOT EMILY!!!! 

"She never made it off the table." 

I needed air. I needed to breathe. I needed...Emily. I rose from my seat, trying to walk past where J.J. stood. She grabbed my arm before I could. "Spence..." I let her push me back so I was standing in front of her, but I couldn't look her in the eyes. Not now, not yet. 

"I didn't get a chance to say goodbye." I looked up for a fraction of a second. 

"Come here," she whispered as she pulled me in for a hug. I couldn't keep any of it in any longer. I cried it out right there, in front of everyone, on J.J.'s shoulder. After a while, she let go, walking back behind the glass doors to talk to Hotch. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I did see the hurt and pain in their eyes, as well. 

-

I went radio silent. We were all given time off to grieve over the loss of SSA Emily Prentiss. I felt numb. Morgan and I led the rest of the team in carrying her casket to where she was to be laid to rest. I wore my favorite purple scarf, the one she told me one time, that it suited me, for her. She was truly one of my best friends. J.J. went up, first, placing her red rose on Emily's casket. The rest of us followed, each saying a silent prayer to send her off to the afterlife. I have no idea if she ever believed in that or not, I didn't used to. After knowing I died, and was revived...I find myself hoping to believe it more. 

\-------♥--------


	10. Ashley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley can't shake this gut feeling about Emily. She begins to scrutinize her growing feelings for Spencer. The team works to save Emily from Doyle. Ashley has a moment with Rossi which cements her spot on the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "Valhalla," and "Lauren." Mentions of Sex. Basic Criminal Minds case-related stuff. Major Character Death.

\--------♥-------- 

I have this gut feeling in the pit of my stomach and I do not like it. It's the same feeling I got when my father first told me I wasn't allowed to keep a puppy. The same feeling I got when I first thought my ex-boyfriend was cheating on me. 

Now, I have this feeling. I just hope it has nothing to do with Spencer. Or anyone else on the team, for that matter. Especially Emily. 

I've become more welcomed into this family. I've bonded with everyone, really, with the exception of Morgan, Garcia, and Hotch. I have hope that one day that will change. It feels nice to belong to a family. I haven't felt that in so long. 

"There is no history of any kind of psychological weirdness with either family," Penelope strolled into the room Spencer and I were working in. Guess I should be thankful she interrupted my previous train of thought. "They were healthy, happy, fit..."

"Until last night," I stated. Not much about this case made sense. Spencer still remained quiet. I turned around to see Garcia take one of the open seats next to him. He didn't even look up once. I hope he's not having a headache again. "Any signs of financial stress?"

"No. The were healthy on that front, too," Garcia replied. She pulled out what looked like a laptop. I didn't understand. The woman has an entire bat cave at her leisure. 

"What's with the..." I asked her, gesturing towards the mobile computer she was busy setting up with all its bells and whistles. 

"Oh. The heat is out in my lair. Not a single snowflake has fallen, at yet the weather remains the top news story." I smiled. Likely story. We had been experiencing on and off power outages. That sucks. 

"Nothing about these cases?" I ask, wanting to get to the bottom of this case. It was beginning to become frustrating. I was in the mood to take a break. 

"No. They're bound to get hip to it. Once our presence is felt and we connect the cases, it'll be a Ballroom Blitz." 

"Hmmm," we hear Spencer mumble. Garcia jumped, slightly. Guess she must have forgotten that he'd been in the room this entire time. I leaned down closer to him, hoping to convey that if he had any hunches about this case, I was all ears to listen. 

"What is it?"I hoped I didn't sound too thrilled that, after all, what was happening to the victims wasn't exactly happy by any means. 

"You know, considering the time these fires occurred, the habitual patterns of both families were in direct conflict with where the bodies were found." I knew the genius couldn't stay silent for too long. 

"The master bedroom," I said as it clicked in my head. I was trying to run thru all the scenarios that had been staring at me from the board. 

"Yeah, normally Lauren Cosenza would be downstairs helping her son with his homework, and Ron wouldn't even be home from work yet."

"What about the Fagans?" Finally, it seemed as though we were getting somewhere. No closer to finding this unsub, but closer to something. 

"Their routines were less established--they traveled a lot. But they were expected at a dinner party last night."

"If someone did this, what are the chances these victims are random?"The great tech goddess spoke from her perch next to the genius. 

"Probably not as likely as we thought." Spencer said. With that, we watched Garcia put her laptop back in her bag and high tailed it to the room where the rest of our team had been. As I turned back to stare at the board once more, Spencer startled me. 

"Hey, are you okay?" I sighed out a breath I had been holding in. Not realizing that we many not have been alone, I spoke without my usually acquainted filter present. 

"I'm fine, Spencer. Just..I don't know. How are your headaches?" Before I could even think to breathe, Spencer's hand clasped over my mouth. I guess sleeping together on occasion helps him not care much about direct physical contact. 

"Shh...keep your voice down, Ashley. Please." I nodded, lifting one of my own hands to snake around his and gently pull it off my face and back down to his side. 

"Sorry, just...wait. You still haven't told anybody else?" I was surprised. I really believed he would have shared this with Morgan, maybe, or Emily. 

"No, the last time word got out about something similar to this, I was almost kicked out of the BAU. I can't risk it again.". The last time? I wanted to press on that, but quickly decided against it. "Look, they are...getting better. They happen less often since...."I nodded again at him. I was glad to know that, as unconventional as it was, what we had been doing was helping him. I smile brightly his way. 

"Happy to help, now, help me figure out our unsub's next move." 

-

"The media blitz I promised never came," Garcia was telling Hotch as the two came inside the round table room where Morgan and I were. "The original online article written by a one Mr. Jeff Hastings--pulled. So, with your permission, Sir, I would like to track him down and figure out what the hell is going on." She sat down next to me while I absorbed what she had said, holding my hands together will my elbows propped on the table.

"What's the connection?" asked Hotch.

"It's a small one," Garcia answered. "Both families coach soccer on the hill." 

"The Fagans didn't have children," I said, trying to piece together where our profile was heading. 

"No. But Kerry Fagan coached her godson's team." 

"The two victims from Europe were the soccer coaches," Morgan chimed in. 

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Garcia already have pieced most of that together. 

"I'm beginning to think that they've crossed paths before," Morgan continued. I had just noticed Spencer walking in to join us. A part of me hoped to be paired with him so that I could talk with him more, make sure he's okay. This feeling still hasn't shaken from me, yet. I'm getting worried. 

"I ran the victims' phone numbers. They never contacted each other, but there is a common number between them," Spencer says, his words just rolling off his tongue. He's holding a folder in one hand and gesturing in, what I've come to learn is, true Spencer Reid fashion. 

"Give it," Garcia interjects with a wave of her hand. 

"Uh, 703-555-0118."

"Bryon Delaney, his wife Grace died last summer," Garcia rambles as she pounds away at the keys of her laptop, "children grown. What do you know? He's british." 

"Garcia, send me the address. I'll grab Prentiss," Morgan tells her as he gets up from his seat across from me. 

"Sent." 

-

Right now, Reid and I were both sitting at our desks. I was practically doing nothing, while Spencer was doodling on a notepad, trying to recreate the tattoo. For a minute, I thought that maybe this would be my chance to talk with him. I needed to know that he was okay. I didn't get my chance though, seeing Morgan, Hotch, and Emily walk in. 

"Reid, you got anything?" Morgan asks, walking right up to Spencer. 

"The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains," Reid gave a fair answer. 

"Seaver, get the victim's photo out to the press," Hotch ordered of me, leaving me to adjust my focus back to my computer to do as I was told. 

"I think I know who dug the hole," Garcia announced from behind us all. "The journo told me to follow the money, like straight up, that's what he told me, so I did," she continued to wildly speak, coaxing us to follow, hoping we caught a break. "It turns out 'the Gazette' is owned by a multinational global conglomerate--oil, new technologies, shipping, air and ground transportation, all of which employ the services of one company--CWS." Penelope looked like she desperately needed a breather after all that. 

"Clear Water Securities?" Hotch asked. 

"You know them?" chimed in Rossi. If he hadn't said anything, I would've forgotten he was here. 

"I've come across them. They're a private counterintelligence group out of Geneva."

"Ron Cosenza, Byron Delaney, Kerry Fagan...all worked for CWS." 

"How long ago?" I heard Emily ask. 

"Seven years." The look in her eyes told me she knew something and wasn't sharing with the rest of the team. 

"Seaver, hang up." I looked up at Hotch, clicking the end call button on my cell. 

"Do we have a problem?" Rossi asks. 

"No...CWS does." 

Reid rolled his seat back, his finished sketch in hand. "Got it." It looked like a celtic four-leaf clover. I watched Emily's face change the moment she laid eyes on it. I noticed that Penelope caught the same look, too. I watched the two of them walk towards the restrooms. I sighed, slumping back in my seat. I made a mental note that I would try and talk with Spencer the second this case was over. I also felt that I should make sure Emily is okay, too. Maybe...this feeling of mine will subside, too. 

-

"Okay, Ian Doyle's officially on everyone's list," Garcia said, typing away at her mobile computer. "His mug is all over the place. He's not gonna be able to get out of the district unless he sprouts wings himself." Both Morgan and Prentiss were standing next to our favorite tech analyst. Spencer and I were near Emily, feeling relieved we were at least getting somewhere. 

"Look, it's not that I'm not happy that we have his name," I said, looking directly at Emily as I spoke, "but how are we supposed to know who's on his list?" It was a valid question. One I hoped that would lead to an answer that would subside my pitiful ache. 

"We study his life and every single person he's ever come in contact with," Morgan answered, clearly trying to give the room we were in a little relief. Emily looked anything but relieved. 

"Look...Doyle's been away for seven years, but he still managed to figure out who the players were. Maybe we should start with how he got out of prison."

"Well, where was he locked up?" Morgan asked. 

"Russia, I think.." Emily sighed. 

"Actually, there are no extradition papers on him," I explained. 

"Was Doyle on your radar when you were at Interpol?" Hotch asked Emily. 

"Uhh, sure, I had heard of him, but...direct contact?" she faltered. That feeling suddenly felt a little tighter. "I'd have to ask around." 

"Do." With that, Emily turned and walked out. I wanted to follow her, make sure everything was alright. 

"Good guys and bad keep files close to them," Rossi pondered. 

"What are in these files?" Garcia echoed everyone's thoughts there. 

"It's intel. Insurance. Protection. For times like this." Rossi definitely never let any of us forget he was quite the pro at this gig. 

"Maybe I should go to Byron Delaney's house and see what I can find," Morgan questioned Hotch. 

"Take Prentiss with you. She might have some insight." Morgan nodded and went to go track Emily down. 

-

We learned that Emily had an alias. Lauren Reynolds. She was a part of team, one that sent her undercover to get close to him. And now, he was coming back for revenge. For her. I wanted to go home and curl up with my favorite ratty stuffed animal and a good happy movie. Something to take my mind off the horrible reality involving Emily. 

I hated that I had this gut feeling and didn't say anything. To anyone. I felt even worse for letting the thought cross my mind that I was thankful it wasn't about Spencer. But, it's clear that Emily is one of Spencer's closest friends, so I can only imagine what he's going thru right now. Maybe I should see if he wants some company. Just to be there, unless the stress of all this is giving him those headaches again, God! Listen to me. I suck at this shit. 

Sure enough, my phone buzzed. I dropped my files in the passenger seat and looked at my phone. 

Spencer📱: Hey. Could I ask you to follow me home, tonight? No headaches. I just don't want to be alone. I couldn't help the small smile that came across my face. I was happy that I wasn't the only one who was thinkin of wanting some friendly company. 

Me📱: Yeah, Spencer, sure. I'll bring some snacks. 

I stopped at the grocery chain store just a block from my apartment. Once I was ready, with my comfy pajamas on, snacks and drinks in hand, I was in front of his door, knocking on it softly, but loud enough for him to hear. Spencer opened it up, silently pointing with his finger for me to walk past him. He was on his phone. With who, I couldn't hear. 

Spencer📲: "Funny how word travels fast. Thanks for listening, J.J. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ah. J.J. She was the agent I heard I replaced. Emily talked about her. She was now in D.C. I pretended not to have been eavesdropping, arranging the assortment I brought over across his coffee table. 

Spencer📲: "I know. Goodnight." He hung up and placed his phone next to a few boxes of Cracker Jacks. 

"So.." I said, picking at my knuckles. 

"Yeah, um, I just...I wanted to know if she'd heard anything from Emily...that's all," Spencer explained to me while we sat on his couch, digging into the snacks. 

"Spencer--just, um, have you ever been, well, uhh, friends with benefits, you know, with anyone...before me?" The question came out before I could stop my tongue from functioning. 

"Ye-yeah, it just, it had nothing to do with headaches," he stumbled over his words. I grabbed a handful of chips and crushed them in my mouth in hopes of avoiding him noticing any hints that could potentially give away new weird feelings I'm getting. 

"It's okay if this is..you know, the first," I said. "I've only done it once before...and I never actually once considered him a friend." Spencer frowned. 

"Ashley, if he wasn't a friend, then how were you 'friends with benefits?'" It was a vaild question. One I didn't exactly want to answer, but one I figured I could and hope that he feels a little more like my friend than just a sex buddy. 

"I slept with him after only meeting him an hour before in a bar. We didn't hang or anything. But, for about five or so months, every time we'd see each other at the same bar, we wound up in bed together soon after," I let out a sigh. "It's definitely not something I'm proud of, but I learned from it." I took a breath, daring to look at Spencer, sideways out of the corner of my eye. His face said it all. "Hey, look, you and me, I see us being friends. Our relationship isn't just about sex. And, as long as we continue to be on the same page about that, I see nothing wrong with it. Just uhh, don't fall in love with me. You do that and it might end badly for you," I told him. I meant it. Every single word. Hoping to convey my thoughts across, I winked up at him. Hearing him laugh, even a little made me smile all the more. 

"Sounds like we are on the same page," Spencer said, eyeing the Pringles in front of us. Together, we continued to talk, played a few movies on his small TV, and...I began to truly believe my words even more. Spencer Reid is definitely one of my good friends, if not, best friend. I liked that. I just hope the sex doesn't ruin it. 

When I woke up, it was morning. Spencer's clock said 6:48 a.m. I debated staying for a bit, before heading into work. As much as I know Spencer and I wouldn't mind the team knowing we've become close friends, we don't need to be giving them any reason to profile us by showing up together, possibly dressed in yesterday's clothes. Getting out of his bed, I heard his shower running. Good, maybe I can just leave him a note. Worked the last time. 

Walking into his kitchen, I saw that a full pot of coffee had already been made. I definitely could use a cup or five. I quickly dressed out of my slept in pajamas and put on an outfit from my go bag. As I was almost finished with my second cup, Spencer came out to join me from his bedroom. 

"You, uhh, need a ride to work?" I thought about it. With everything else going on, maybe none of them would even notice. 

"Sure, as long as you don't mind.." I said, hesitantly. 

"I wouldn't. I'm offering." 

-

Jack Fahey. Someone who knew both Ian Doyle and Lauren Reynolds. After a tearful jet ride, we landed and had the man with a bandage on his ear sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. Rossi and Reid went on first, the rest of us simply waiting. 

"Hey, you holding up okay?" Garcia asked me, probably noticing how I was staring off into space. If anyone has the right to feel angry, I believe I'd be the last on the list. As if the colorful woman could read my mine she continues before I could open my mouth to respond. "Oh, sweetie, you know, I know that you haven't known Emily, or the rest of us for that long, but, believe me when I say we are a family here. One that includes you." I don't know if Penelope will ever truly know just how much hearing those words mean to me. 

"Thanks, Penelope. You truly are one of best people I've ever met." Before I could chat more with Garcia, we saw Reid and Rossi walk out with Jack. I watched as he sat down on one of the desks, looking smug as could be. 

"200,000?" I asked, speaking to Hotch. 

"What other leverage to we have?"

"Is he an addict?" I couldn't help but clock his insatiable need to do...something. 

"He's having a nicotine fit," Rossi confirmed. "We wouldn't let him smoke."

"We could use that. He'd relax, open his big mouth." I tried not to sound too obvious. I know we are in a police precinct and all, but, I mean, it would loosen his jaw, get him to squeal. 

"Is that enough?" Hotch asked, concerned.

"Well, I'm pretty good with narcissists. Dated a few" I thought about the story I told Spencer last night. I pushed all that down for now. 

-

Rossi joined me on the roof while we further interrogated Jack Fahey. Then man looked like he was high as a kite, given that we finally let him smoke. As we watched him take a puff, he turned to us, clearly ready to start talking. "You know when a cigarette is best?" He glanced over at Rossi before landing his creepy stare on me. "After sex with me." I resisted rolling my eyes at him. Thankfully, Rossi jumped in. 

"Mind your manners." 

"Alright. Whoa...whoa," Fahey said, backing away from us, instinctively covering what remains of his right ear. I overheard he claims Emily is responsible for that. I chuckled a little. 

"You're already extorting us for Prentiss' location." Dave was losing his patience. If I'm being honest, so was I. 

"So, just..out of curiosity, what's it like working for Doyle?" I asked Jack, playing coy, as he took another puff of his nicotine stick. 

"Eh, he's not so tough." I guess he would think so. Doyle wasn't the one to shoot his ear off. 

"Wow. I bet you're his hookup, aren't you? I mean, after all, you're the man," I coaxed, hoping he would take the bait. His smile really said it all. 

"I could show you how much of a man I really am," Fahey smirked. Rossi wasted no time coming at him, reminding him to watch his mouth. 

"Alright, alright, alright! Geez! What's with the 'Sexy Cop, Bad Cop' routine? What do you two think---" Before I could even react, blood was splattered over my face and chest. I gasped. I opened my eyes, seeing Fahey with a bullet wound in the shoulder. Rossi grabbed hold of my arm, yelling, "DOWN!" Together, we ducked, Jack, still somehow standing in front of us. A second bullet flew thru his chest, more blood being thrown around the area we were in. I kept my head down, thankful I wasn't alone. 

-

I tried so hard, too hard, really, to wipe the blood that was clearly already dried, off my white turtleneck. "That's not going to come out," I hear Dave say as I see him standing there in front of me. I hate it when he's right. 

"Yeah, I know." 

"Ashley, we have a problem. Without Fahey, there's not much left." I knew that. Hell, we all knew that. "We all want to save Prentiss so bad that we can't see this case straight." I felt my throat swell up, suddenly feeling like anything I do or say could be very wrong. 

"Okay...what do we do?" Yes, nerves. Definitely nerves. 

"We depend on the team member with the freshest eyes." Freshest eyes. Me. He means me. Shit.

"Oh, no," I barely whispered, "Not me, no." Rossi knelt down next to me as he continued to talk. 

"You haven't worked with Prentiss for five years. You're unprejudiced. Now, what's been bugging you since we left Quantico?" I froze. Nothing was coming out of my mouth. "How about the affair?" Affair? Emily and Doyle? No. That wasn't what kept bugging me. We profiled that he didn't have any family. And yet.. "That bugs me! How does the two of them sleeping together change Doyle's profile?" Dave was pushing me. He knew I thought something was very off, but didn't feel confident enough to speak out. 

"I-I, uhh, I don't know." Doing well under pressure, I learned was Spencer's thing. I now know and understand, that it is not mine. 

"Come on, Ashley! It's textbook." 

"I haven't read every textbook." Spencer probably had. 

"You want me to hold your hand? Fine," he says as he reaches out and grabs the hand of mine that was closest to him. He's looking me dead in the eyes. Emily's life is on the line. Think, Ashley, THINK! "What doesn't fit? Just say it! What are you thinking? Spit it out!" 

"WHY FAMILIES?!" I felt a little rush of anger as I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

"Keep going," Rossi encouraged. 

"Prentiss is Doyle's stressor. He wants revenge on the woman who betrayed him, and I understand that." I did. My childhood understood that. "But, why kill that child in D.C.?" 

Rossi looked at me like he couldn't be more proud. "That's the Agent Seaver I'm looking for." He stood up, holding out a hand for me to take. "Let's get you a new shirt." 

-

We managed to deduce that Doyle had a child. Emily knew. She knew and that information was what lead her to now. Morgan was closest, he said he could still feel her pulse when they took her away in the ambulance. 

We all were scattered around the waiting room. I thought about holding Spencer's hand several times, watching as he paced back and forth, near me, then far away. I hated it. I hated that it felt like we failed Emily. I thought back to when I first joined. Emily vouched for me. She didn't even know me, even after I made a colossal mistake and I just knew Hotch was going to send me back to the Academy, Emily stood up for me. No one had ever done that for me, before. 

The doors opened, revealing J.J. She had a pain in her eyes, we've all come to recognize in doing this job. A pain we hate seeing, hate even more feeling it. "She never made it off the table." Tears erupted all over from every single one of us. Right before I was going to go comfort Spencer, he shot out of his chair, making a beeline past J.J., but she stopped him. I watched as he cried on her shoulder. Luckily, Penelope was right there, and together, we held each other for a good, long moment. We lost a very important member of our team, of our family. 

Her funeral was nice. It was predictable, a pastor speaking in biblical terms, and each of us as her family, with a rose in hand, ready to lay on top of her casket as it was gently lowered into the ground. That night, I laid in bed next to my phone, half hoping that Spencer would call, or, at least, text. Of course, he was hurting, too. It was selfish of me, really. It's funny, the one person we probably all wanted to call in this moment...was Emily. 

I laid my head down on my pillow, hugging my rabbit tight, letting my eyes close and my mind drift off. Maybe I'll wake up and it'll all be a dream. A horrible nightmarish dream. 

\-------♥--------


	11. Spencer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer is struggling with the loss if Emily. Instead of going to Ashley, he cries on J.J.'s couch. Spencer shares a moment with Ashley walking talking down the latest unsub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "With Friends Like These.." Basic Criminal Minds case-related stuff. Mentions of Sex.

\--------♥-------- 

"Congratulations, Agent Seaver," Hotch said, giving Ashley a congratulatory nod of approval, with Rossi not being too far behind. 

"Who made the cupcakes?" he said as he brought his fist up to meet Ashley's. 

"I did!" Garcia said, as the rest of us gathered into the conference room as we had yet, another case. 

I missed Emily. I'm sure everyone did, even Ashley. I knew that Emily was the one who stood up to Hotch for her when none of us did. A few nights ago, I found myself at J.J.'s door, prepared to just cry into her shoulder until I found myself feeling better. I was grateful that Will was understanding, inviting me to play with Henry and read him his bedtime story on the nights I ended up at their house. I hadn't really talked much with Ashley. 

We were all just getting back from her graduation at the academy. She was still considered a probationary agent, but with Emily gone, the rest of us knew it was only a matter of time before Strauss would have Ashley try to fill Emily's shoes. It gave me comfort to know that Ashley would never do that to the team. 

"Thank you all for coming to my graduation. It meant a lot." 

"Let's get started," Hotch said, as well all took that as our cue to find our seats while Garcia pulled up various screens on the monitor behind her. 

"Okay, we're going to Portland, Oregon, and it's not for a Dead Moon concert." It's not often that I don't get Garcia's pop culture references, but whenever she names a supposed famous artist or band, nine times out of ten, it does indeed go over my head. "So, Jay Johnson, a DJ, was cutting through an alley on his way home after leaving a club when he was bludgeoned by a pipe and then stabbed thirty one times." I shuffled thru the photos laid out in front of me. "His watch, his cell, and his computer were stolen. That was two days ago. Now, early this morning, Karen Heywood, a thirty year old nurse, she died during a home invasion. She was stabbed forty times, but first she was bludgeoned with weapons of opportunity." 

"Eight different ones, to be exact," Morgan chimed in. 

"That's too many weapons for one person," Rossi stated. 

"There was a left and a right-handed killer according to the M.E. report." 

"Yeah, but eight different weapons," Rossi echoed again. 

"So, we're looking for a group," Morgan conceded. 

"Yeah, it seems that way," Hotch agreed. I felt like now would be the time for Emily to join in on the conversation, saying something I would then either agree with, giving more information, or counter with more information. I hated that she was gone. "And the left-handed wounds were deeper than the right."

"Maybe a woman was involved?" I said, quietly, half-hoping no one heard me, but me. 

"Or a weak man," Ashley said, clearly able to hear even my faintest whisper. She gave me a look that I couldn't quite read. I chose to ignore whatever it was and turned my focus back to the discussion at hand. 

"Anything taken from the house?" Hotch asked the group. 

"Uh, according to a neighbor, just some random stuff, a computer, some jewelry, a framed picture of a lily," Garcia said, wondering where this was going. 

"And pawnable items," Morgan finished. "What do we have, serial-killing crooks?" 

"Sounds like a musical," Rossi deadpanned. 

"Similar victimology--young professionals killed three miles apart," Hotch said, not at all even smiling at what even I knew was a joke from Rossi. 

"Is there a gang situation in Portland?" Ashley asked. At least I could provide the answer there. 

"Minimal," I said, sitting up in my chair, "This seems more like desperate people in need of quick cash." 

"Why kill them if it's just for the money?" 

"That's what we have to find out," Rossi said, closing his folder. 

"And we've got eight hours till nightfall. Let's go," Hotch ordered. 

-

"So both victims around the same age and killed at night," said Hotch. We were now on the jet, flying towards Portland. 

"One in an alley on the way to his car, the other in her home after coming from the grocery store after work," Rossi continued. 

"There's extreme overkill in both," Morgan concurred, flipping through the papers on the table near him. 

"Overkill usually implies a personal relationship," Ashley countered. I caught the glance she shot me before turning back to Morgan. 

"Or it could mean that the victim represents someone for whom the killer has extreme anger," Hotch said, standing next to where Morgan was sitting. 

"These unsubs are night owls, stalking and killing other night owls," Rossi said, sounding like he might be onto something. 

"And they're also disorganized, in one they subdued their victims by hitting them with a pipe found at the scene, and in the other they used a knife, followed by seven other items found in the kitchen," I finished, closing the folder I had currently in my lap. 

"A doorstop, even a ceramic cat," Ashley tried following the same thought Rossi and I were chasing, too. "All of this just to steal?" 

"When a gang mentality sets in," Rossi began, "unsubs become more capable of heinous acts." 

"It's still odd. The incidence of robbery is so low in this area," Ashley said. It was like she was trying to set me up for exactly what I do best. 

"That's why I started working a geographical profile," I said, looking directly at her, as I turned to pull my map out of my bag. "First things first, I factored in journey to crime distance. If you look here, you'll see that this area of Portland is well within the expected five-mile radius. I also factored in distance of decay."

"What does distance have to do with decay?" Ashley asked me. Before I could answer, Rossi stole my thunder. 

"It's how geo-profilers measure relative probability of an offender traveling outside his comfort zone." I nodded. 

"Unsubs prefer to stay in an area that they know well," Hotch spoke. 

"Like you'd commute to work or to the gym," Morgan further explained. 

"The closer the crime scenes, the greater likelihood it is that the unsub lives or works nearby," Hotch said. 

"Based on my algorithm, the unsubs either live or work in this area," I say as I show them the circles I had drawn to indicate the areas I had just spoken of. 

-

For the first time since Ashley was first asked to consult with us, the two of us were paired together. I wanted to ask her how she was coping with Emily's death, but I didn't out of fear for letting my own guilt and frustrations out in the process. Now was not the time. "So, Mr. Johnson exits the nightclub through the back door to get to his car." We were currently in an alleyway near where the victim had been killed. 

"Maybe one unsub can watch from over there," Ashley said, pointing towards the street, "and the other from back there," she turned around, her finger still pointing. 

"Then when he gets here, another unsub hits him with a pipe, and it's game on." I turned to look at Seaver, trying to see if she is following. 

"Look at the vials, Reid," she says as her gaze reverts downward near us. It feels slightly weird to hear her call me Reid. "This is a drug corridor." 

"That would explain why there is so much overkill. Maybe they were on something." I could kick myself for not catching that, sooner. Being high on drugs certainly changes a person's behavior. I sadly know that firsthand. 

"On the jet I did some research into the club. A year ago, someone O.D.'d inside. Since then, new management's clamped down on the partying." 

"Which means the unsubs most likely fit in to this area," I concurred. 

"Well, if you can't party inside, then you come out here. They're probably all the same age.." I was hearing Ashley, looking just past her, noticing for the first time that her button-down shirt had the first three buttons undone. I snapped my head back up to meet her eyes before I felt she could catch on as to what I was trying not to do. 

"Yeah, mid-20's.." I said, nonchalantly. I turned away from her, looking down at the ground. It made me think about what it had felt like. The last time I had shot up. In that moment, I wished so bad that I could talk to Emily. She's know what to do. What I should do. 

-

"We believe our unsub is a white male, paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from hallucinations," Hotch spoke, delivering the profile. I sat on the table, looking up, anywhere, really, that wasn't into anyone's eyes. I kept seeing my mother...then...me. I'm near the age, too, when the episodes tend to start. "Since schizophrenic breaks usually occur in your early 20's, we believe he's around this age and that he lives nearby." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the concern written clear as day across Morgan's face. "We think this unsub is hypervigilant, and in this condition, he's unable to travel very far from his home."

"He kills at night and is extremely violent," Rossi cut in. I just kept deep inside my own head. A place that could become just as frightening as anything else, really. "During the day, he's most likely a loner." Loner. That's one word that would describe me. "Someone in this state, probably can't keep a job." Okay. That definitely does not sound like me. I feel myself breathe a little better. "We believe something happened to our unsub in his childhood. Childhood voices are telling him to kill," I feel my fingers move, not really paying much attention to what I'm actually doing with them. I know Morgan is still staring at me. Like he's waiting for me to say something, "or he's misinterpreting them as doing so." 

"Our unsub has probably been coping until now, but a recent stressor brought him back to that childhood incident and is causing him to at out," Ashley said. Recent stressor....my headaches. I couldn't help but smile just a little, thinking at just how much having Ashley here has actually been helping me. For a moment, a very brief moment, I almost forgot that Emily was gone. 

"Our unsub spends his days wandering, trying to fight the desire to kill," Morgan continues. "Yet, he feels trapped by his hallucinations. No matter what he does, or tries to do, the hallucination's power is greater than his own. Because of his limited social circle as a child, it is our belief that the incident involved close friends or family. Now, once we figure out what happened when he was a kid and the stressor that recently triggered a relapse, we'll be that much closer to narrowing down the killer's identity." 

Listening to the profile given thus far, I felt like the air was leaving the room. Aside from a small amount of details, everyone was essentially describing...me. I know they all knew it, besides Morgan, I could feel sympathetic looks from every single one of them. Emily would have shot me a look as well, I'm sure, but it wouldn't have necessarily been sympathetic. Maybe more like "Reid, if you're not okay, you need to talk, to me, to somebody." God, I wish I could hear her voice, again. To feel her hug me and tell me she's safe and that everything is okay. 

"Reid?" Hotch spoke, breaking me out of my mind. I was more than grateful for the interruption. 

"We need you all to start searching in this area," I began, trying to hide the tears that threatened to give me away. "Based on previous kills, we know that he strikes at night and will not retreat until we find him." 

-

I found myself in the restroom, throwing copious amounts of water on my face, desperately trying to pull myself together. I almost lost it out there. "You know, that profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing," I told Morgan through the mirror while grabbing at the paper towels. 

"That's not what we said at all, Reid." 

"You know, my mom has schizophrenia. There are many different types."

"I know that."

"Catatonic, disorganized...just because someone suffers from inability to organize their thoughts or they can't bathe or dress themselves," at this point, I'mm mindlessly grabbing at the paper towels again. Probably as another distraction. "It doesn't mean they'd stab someone in the chest thirty times postmortem." I turned around, slumping against the back of the marble sink. 

"Reid, what's really going on?" 

"Our unsub's hallucinations aren't fractured like a typical schizophrenic." I say as I look up to Morgan. "They're vivid and clear, leading me to believe that we're missing an important variable. Rather than making crazy conjectures, I think we should be trying to figure out what it is." I feel I'm losing more and more of myself through these intense headaches. I wanted to talk to Ashley, but she's been distant as of late. 

"Okay, listen to me," Morgan sighed. "I know this is a scary age for you. It's when schizophrenic breaks happen. Have you talked to anybody about this?" I gave him a pitiful sigh. 

"Emily." In my head, I say Ashley, too, but I know Morgan would, without a doubt, drum up some questions that I had no desire to answer at the moment. I could tell Morgan understood the weight of this conversation. 

"Have you seen a doctor?" Yeah, I've seen several. Still here inside square one. 

"They all say I'm fine." 

"Then why don't you believe them?" This is why I love Morgan. He'll take my word, even when he hates to admit it, over anyone else's almost all the time. 

"Because predicting one's chances of developing a genetic condition are like finding a penny in an ocean." I chuckle a little, unsure if what I'm about to say will either help or worsen the situation. "I have terrible headaches. I can't sleep at night. I can't focus on our cases..." I scoffed a little when I realized that I've even gotten behind on my normal amount of reading material. "I only read five books last week."

"C'mon, kid, you gotta cut yourself some slack," Morgan sighed. I knew where this was going. Didn't mean it was helping, but, at the same time, it was nice to know that more than just Emily and Ashley took notice to care. "You're also depressed about Prentiss, and I get it. We all are. Reid, I miss her everyday. But, if your mind was splitting, do you really think you'd be able to figure out that this team is missing a variable?" 

I gave what my friend told me some thought. I just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that no one I'd seen, seemed to give me a plausible result, or at least, one I could believe myself. "I'm just speculating that we are." I turned to look at Morgan, ready for this conversation to be over. "I need to prove it." 

"Okay, then you do that." His face softened, suddenly sounding like the big brother I never knew I needed..or wanted, but am glad to have. "The moment you are wandering around the streets aimlessly, that's when I'll be concerned about you." I let my head fall in relief for a brief moment. "C'mon, pretty boy. Let's get to work." 

-

"...Then check police records. Maybe he's been arrested," we hear Hotch tell Garcia over the phone as he approaches us. "Any of them for theft?...Alright, go through personal information. Maybe they've had run-ins with the law when they were younger." 

"You know, at the grocery store where Karen Heywood was shopping the night she was murdered, the clerk said the unsub was buying water and a lot of salt." 

"Saltwater could be used to torture his victims," Rossi said. 

"Well, there's no evidence of that," Morgan stated. Ashley was glancing around between all three of us before replying with her own thoughts. 

"It could also be used to remove victims' blood from clothing." Everyone was hyper focused on the physical aspects I had mentioned, that it led me to have forgotten the one key aspect I should have seen from the start. 

"Think about this, though. The visions that schizophrenics have can be interpreted as demons. What do some people do when they think they have demons inside of them?" I knew the answer before I even asked it. 

"They could get an exorcism," Morgan answered, as if right on cue. 

"Holy water is used in exorcisms," Rossi added. I already began going over the geographical profile in my head in search of churches in the area I markered off. 

"What about the salt?" Ashley turned this time to look directly at me. 

"Salt is used in exorcisms, and a variety of religious healings," I answered, thumbing through the various papers that had been laid out in front of me. 

"What are you looking for?" Ashley asked. I gave her a knowing glance, hoping she silently understood that I wanted to stop and talk with her the moment we could do so. 

"The number of churches in the comfort zone. Three." 

"Alright, let's see if any of them keep their doors open late," Hotch said, turning to lead us out the doors, on our way to each of th mentioned churches. 

-

"Hey, who are you riding with?" I asked Ashley while she was filling up on her fourth cup of coffee this evening. 

"Oh, um, Hotch, I think," she says, clearly drained from the day we've had. I hate that I haven't allowed myself the chance to talk to her since...Emily. It's only been a couple of weeks, and I've been finding myself sobbing with J.J. on her couch, rather than in Ashley's company. My headaches have been getting worse, but, I feel like I failed at saving one of my best friends. "Hey, Spence, you know it's okay, right?" 

I blinked a few times. "Wha--what's okay?" Our arrangement, or whatever it really was, still didn't sit right with me, especially knowing that sleeping with her kept them away for weeks at a time. I hated that I was essentially still using her, and now, I wanted to again, this time to help me cope with the loss of Emily. I know she suffered Emily's loss too, but I still felt like I deserved more of an excuse to not act like a highly-functional human being. Just an abnormal functional one. Ashley simply shook her head, bringing her mug to her lips. 

"It's okay to not be okay." 

I let her words linger in my ears. Who was I kidding? Of course, I wasn't okay. Even with all one hundred and eighty-seven of my IQ points, I couldn't say with certainty just how long it was going to take for me to be truly 'okay.' For now, being somewhat okay was better than being far from okay. I wanted to lean in, steal a kiss I was sure I didn't deserve. Hotch walked by seconds later, letting us know that it was time to roll out to our respective assignments. 

-

Morgan and I went to Trinity Catholic Church to talk with the pastor. "He came here in duress," Pastor [name] said as the three of us walked down the center of the pews. "...about two hours ago." 

"And what did he say?" I wondered if the seemingly good man i front of me truly cared about our unsub, or just didn't care to see him tarnish the good name of his church. 

"He said....he said voice were blaming him for a fire," the pastor explained, using similar gestures that could easily mimic my own. I was already growing wary of him and we hadn't even been inside for more than five minutes. "...and he needed me to get rid of them." 

I glanced over to Morgan, nodding my head curtly. "You're right. He thinks he's haunted." Morgan turned his attention back to the pastor. 

"Did he ask you for an exorcism?" 

"Yes. He claimed his mother had taken him to get one when he was young," the pastor said, gazing off behind us. Clear sign of recalling a memory. 

"And what did you tell him?" 

"I couldn't do it. Throughout history, people have confused possession with mental illness. Some still do." That hit a nerve deep inside me. I had been glancing between Morgan and the pastor, but now, I acted almost as if I had forgotten Morgan wa even there. "Nowadays, most churches turn people like him over to medical professionals. "

"I'm assuming he didn't take your rejection well." If there was any hints of snarkiness in my voice, I didn't exactly try to hide it well, if at all. 

"He was very angry." 

"But he didn't attack you?" Like I said, I would've forgotten Morgan was there the second I heard the words 'mental illness' if it hadn't been for him speaking up. "He didn't threaten you in any way?" The pastor simply shook his head. 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I stated a fact I'm sure the pastor was aware of. "He's probably found help in the church before." I looked over to Morgan, the two of us nodding as we directed our attention back to the pastor. 

"Was there anything else about his behavior that you found odd?

Like something he maybe said or did?" I added in. 

"No. I told you everything." Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to believe that. Almost as if a high power I don't believe in was listening, the pastor took back his word instantly. "Oh, there is one thing." You don't say. "He had a stutter." This time I was being ignored as his attention turned to Morgan. The two of us exchanged looks, not knowing how that piece of information was going to help us just yet. 

"Okay, let me know what you find, Garcia." Morgan and I exited the church as he finished his call. I hated that I was once again, feeling like I had no choice but to identify with the unsub. Last time that happened, it didn't exactly go over well. 

"Psychogenetic stuttering begins in the area of the brain that control thoughts and reasoning. It's most commonly associated with mental illness."

"I checked with the supermarket guy, and the lady at the building, but neither one of them heard stuttering." Morgan was already profiling the possibility that our unsub has a stutter out. I ran other tangents through my head, hoping something would click. 

"Which means it's either caused by the schizophrenia medication or maybe its situational?" The small pain I sometimes felt occasionally was rearing its head again. I had yet to talk with Ashley. 

"Well, the presence of it along with the fire information should help Garcia narrow down her list." We nodded in unison, turning back towards the SUV we came over in. 

-

Wasn't long after Morgan and I left the church that another body was found and called it. I stepped inside the room, first, with Morgan right behind me. "This victim's alot older than his other ones, Morgan. She must represent something to him. The detective with us walked in as well, and was now standing between Morgan and I. 

"Maybe his mother who had him exorcised? Now that he can't get one, he's taking his anger out on a surrogate."

"Did the EMTs try to save her?" I asked Detective Colbern. 

"No. Why?" she asked. 

"There's a body imprint next to her," I say as I bend over to get a better look. All three of us are now scrunched down on our feet, hands on our knees, trying to figure out just why our unsub did what they did. 

"Wh would the unsub lie down next to a person he's just killed?" As Morgan's question lingered in my head, I imagined the answer. 

"He slept here." That conclusion made sense, considering the blood patterns. "Look at the number of stab wounds."

"There's gotta be over fifty of them," Morgan stated, still knelt down near the victim. As he spoke, I counted the stab wounds, myself. Figures Morgan was off, by twenty-one. 

"Seventy-one." I ignored Morgan's obvious glare. "Do you know how physically exhausting it would be to stab someone seventy-one times?" I took my fist and pantomimed stabbing my own leg a couple of times to emphasize my point. "It's hard enough to stab someone ten times, but seventy-one? They'd be completely worn out." At this point, the three of us have all stood up, still looking over the scene. 

"He's accelerated wound counts, which means he does it intentionally." 

"But why?" Colbern asked. I kinda like the detectives who ask short questions, not trying to cut corners, trying to solve it in a half-ass way. 

"Wait, that's it. If you add the increased number of stab wounds and the fact that he slept here, to the vivid hallucinations and the unexplainable onset of stuttering, you get the missing variable. This guy's an insomniac."

"Just as adrenaline makes a person love the feeling of killing, once it leaves the body, it makes them tired," Morgan concluded, clearly understand my rambles. 

"He does this all...to sleep?" Colbern questioned, as if it was a far-fetched hypothesis. 

"The insomnia is what makes the hallucinations so clear, and sleep is the only release that he has from them." In that moment, as Morgan and Colbern walked away to discuss how one person could stab the victim over seventy times, my mind went to Ashley. Am I just hallucinating these headaches? It would make sense. After every time we've slept together, it's like they disappear. Shit. Am I also an insomniac? 

"Hey, kid? C'mon, let's go." 

-

As soon as Garcia gave us the address, we sped over to the location. The unsub must've seen us coming, because by the time we broke in, calling out "FBI!" The house was deserted. We all scattered. At first, I was with Detective Colbern, then later, with Hotch. As we were trailing the neighborhood, we noticed two kids scrambling to shut every curtain inside the house. 

"I think we've got something at 2218..." Hotch said as he began jogging back. I followed. We caught up with Morgan and Seaver, making our way inside the house. 

"..Just shoot me," Ben, the unsub, said, waving a knife while holding two children hostage. The four of us circled around him, our guns aimed carefully. Since no one else had decided to talk yet, I figured I'd might as well go first. 

"Ben, we're not going to shoot you. But we do need you to put down that knife, okay?" I watched Ben slowly lower the knife, but he did not let it go. "All right," I say as I holster my gun, "where are the other people in this room, Ben?" 

"Right there. You see them?" I already knew the people we're both referring to, are dead. Have been since Ben was ten years old. The kids he held tight didn't know. 

"Right here?" I asked, pretending to look around where I stood, humoring him as best I could. "Where they there for the exorcism?" 

"Mm-mm," Ben nodded. "I didn't kill 'em though. I didn't do it." He was beginning to devolve. "And I'm not lying!" I caught that he was no longer talking to me. 

"Ben, they're dead," Hotch spoke up. "And they can't hurt you anymore." 

"They can," Ben said, softly. 

"No, Ben. You're mind is playing tricks on you," Morgan said, his gun pointed directly at him. "Once you get help, it'll all stop." 

"Yes you are," Ben panted. "Yeah, okay." After a long pause, he continued to talk to his dead friends. "Alright, I killed you. I set the fire. 

"Ben. Listen to us, it's okay. We're going to get you a doctor's help. I promise you that." Morgan was still aiming his gun directly at him. 

"No. The---the only way that you can help me is if you do it--if you kill me." Ben said, his hand wavering with the knife, fear clear in the children's' eyes. I tried to run through the best scenario possible to keep everyone alive. I needed to do something. To say something. 

"Ben, that's not true. Listen, the only way we can help you is if you put down the knife." I kept my eyes locked on Ben. He looked at me like I just gave him permission to stab me in the neck. 

"Are you sure that'll work?" Am I sure what will work? 

"Oh, I'm absolutely sure, Ben," I say, hoping he can hear and understand at least part of what I am actually saying. "Put that knife down, okay?" 

"...okay..." I barely heard Ben whisper. "It's okay, go on." The kids fled away from his the second he let go of their shoulders. Ashley took them both and exited outside the house. That just left Ben with Hotch, Morgan, and myself. I needed Ben to walk out of this, alive. Ben nodded again, "okay," before lunging himself towards me. Hotch, on my right, and Morgan, on my left, both moved to take their shots. Hotch's shot hit. "Ahhh!" Ben fell to the floor at my feet. 

"We need an ambulance," I said into my comms, bending down to check his pulse. I could hear him groaning, trying hard to escape the pain. Morgan kicked the knife away as soon as it feel from his grasp. "Ben, Ben, you're going to live." I kept repeating that line until the medics arrived, taking Ben away on a stretcher. 

"Kid, we kept him from killing himself, or anyone else. C'mon, let's get some sleep." 

-

On the jet, everyone was asleep. I sprawled out on the couch as soon as I could, wanting to rid my head of the nightmares I knew would plague me the minute I actually fell asleep. So, I remained awake with my eyes closed. I heard footsteps pass me. 

"Why are you still up?" Morgan. For a second, I thought he was talking to me, seeing right through the fact that I wasn't actually asleep. 

"I've been looking over Ben's file," Ashley whispered. My ears perked up. "Turns out, he'd been seeing evil imaginary friends ever since he was a child." I could hear the pain and curiosity clear in her voice. 

"Ben was always a killer. You think he had schizophrenia?" I know as they both continue to talk about Ben, both of them are really thinking about me. 

"He may have suffered from some mental disease, but schizophrenia usually presents itself in your late teens or early twenties." One can still begin to show signs as late as twenty-nine, I think as I continue to eavesdrop. 

"Ben did kill those people in that church fire, which is part of that homicidal triad."

"And his mother thought an exorcism would get rid of the demons," Ashley sighed. 

"The only way you can stop a killer, is to catch him, Seaver." 

"You know," I heard her chuckle, "I always viewed serial killers as monsters. But Ben's remorse seemed real. And that's why I can't sleep. I--I can't get him out of my mind." An odd part of me wonders if she was referring to Ben...or, to me when she confessed that. "Does it ever go away?" 

"Luckily, it does. Try and get some rest." 

-

"Hey, Ashley, can I um, get a ride with you?" She looked tired, like even if she was granted a full nights sleep, it wouldn't rid her pretty face of the dark circles that have taken an almost permanent residence under her eyes. 

"Sure thing, Reid." Reid. Since when did she go back to calling me that? I fumbled with my satchel, now unsure if I should follow her to her car or just make the trek to the nearest Metro stop. 

"I c-can take the Metro if you'd rather just go home." I tried to play it off as fatigue, my attitude. I knew I'd been snippy with most of the team since we lost Emily. A huge part of me felt guilty because I had sat with the knowledge of Lauren Reynolds for a few days. Days that went by, and I couldn't put two and two together until it was practically too late. 

"Don't be silly," she baffled, unlocking her passenger door for me, waiting until I was snug in my seat, my messenger bag resting by my feet. Funny thing was, I sure as hell felt like I was being silly. I needed to clear the air. To talk with her so that, in the future, our interactions will stop feeling so goddamn awkward. 

"Ashley, I---I know I said this before, but I think it's best if we stop our uhh, arrangement." I didn't exactly want to. But, I also understood that this wasn't your average friends-with-benefits situation, either. I was using her. To rid my stupid brain of these stupid headaches. "I just---I know you said you were fine with it and all but---"

"But.." Ashley let out a sigh next to me. "Let me guess, you still think you're the only one using the other for something other than the simple pleasures of sex?" Well, when you say it so bluntly, it does actually sound just like that. 

"My last doctor recommended a geneticist to me. I'm told that they're going to call me when they get back from their vacation." I couldn't remember if I had let it slip before to her that I had an inkling as to why sleeping with her (or really, anybody) was helping keep the headaches at bay. The way her smile got bigger told me my answer. 

"Tell me, Dr. Reid, are you always this articulate?" I laughed as we pulled up to my apartment. I found myself stuck in the unanimous debate again. I wanted to lose. I wanted Ashley to tell me she was coming up with me. I wanted her to lock the door and drive us both back to her place. I wanted to be wherever she would be. I hated that the reason why was because I craved the way my head felt when the pain stopped. I desired the way it felt to hear the constant chatter shut up. I wanted the silence to return. 

"Goodnight, Seaver." As I shut the door, I heard her car shut off. By the time I reached the stairs which led up to my floor, I heard the sound of her shoes shuffling in haste to meet mine. When I turned around to say something, I couldn't. Ashley's lips were locked with mine, a delicate grasp I have come to learn all too well, feeling her sway her tongue over the ridge of my teeth, low moans dripping from her throat as I leaned down to press my mouth against the vein just below her jawline. I knew I would wake up the next morning without pain and, if I'm lucky, without any guilt that, once again, Ashley managed to keep the headaches away another day. 

\-------♥--------


	12. Ashley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer is struggling with the loss of Emily. Instead of going to Ashley, he cries on J.J.'s couch. Spencer shares a moment with Ashley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dialogue Taken from the Episode "With Friends Like These.." Basic Criminal Minds case-related stuff. Cursing. Mentions of Sex. TW: Mentions of Drug Use; i.e, Dilaudid, Cocaine, & Ecstasy.

\--------♥-------- 

"Congratulations, Agent Seaver," I heard Hotch say as he and Rossi came over to congratulate me. I couldn't help but wonder what they had been discussing. I knew I wasn't cut out to replace Emily by any means, but I also hoped they weren't discussing my termination, either. 

"Thank you," I replied before biting into a moist cupcake that was part of a dozen clearly made for me. 

"Who made the cupcakes?" Rossi asked as he made a fist, initiating for me to bump it with my own. I obliged. 

"I did!" Garcia squealed, proving that no dark cloud could keep her away from her usually bubbly self. I was glad for it. We already suffered enough doom and gloom to last the rest of the year. I knew that everyone, including me, had rights to grieve Emily, I just felt I had a far less percentage of that right as compared to everyone else...especially Spencer. He shared with me how he confided in her about his headaches and, not wanting to raise unwarranted suspicion, opted to not tell her that I knew. Now, I just felt like...there wasn't much for me here, anymore. Emily had been there for me when it felt like no one was, and Spencer, well, I knew I wasn't the blonde he chose to cry to during this time. As much as I wanted it to be me, I understood it simply wasn't my place. 

Graduation was just how I expected it to go. The BAU team came, and I knew that Emily would've been there if she could be. The fact that J.J. didn't come...that stung a little. I still wondered about my place on the team. Watching them all eat some of Garcia's cupcakes made me feel slightly better, if anything. 

"Thank you all for coming to my graduation. It meant a lot." It did. It gave me a strange sense of false hope that maybe this is where I belong, that just maybe, I could have them as my family, too. But that was clearly simple wishful thinking. 

"Let's get started," Hotch spoke, gathering us all inside the round table room, tablets in hand, except for the ever eccentric doctor. The case was going to take us to Portland, Oregon where our unsub was stabbing their victims more than the average amount of times when it came to murder, that is, according to Dr. Reid. 

While conversing back at forth, I tuned out the others for a moment and just stared at him. The way his eyes looked more sullen, the darkness creeping underneath. I found myself wanting to kiss away every tear I knew had fallen in the past week alone. Hesitantly, I leaned in towards him, catching a whisper that came from him regarding the case. 

"Maybe a woman was involved?" Everyone stopped what they were doing to share in a glance aimed at the genius, including me. My response wasn't meant to come out harsh, but as I spoke, I knew that was just how they were going to seem like when received by him. 

"Or a weak man." The look Spencer gave me in response only served to make me feel even more guilty than I was giving myself credit for. I scoffed as he turned his gaze back to Hotch, who was still engaged in the case at hand, as Spencer and I should be. Once it was decided that we had a limited window until this unsub presumably kills again, Hotch gave us the typical thirty minutes until 'wheel's up.' 

"And we've got eight hours till nightfall. Let's go."

-

On the jet, we were still trying to piece together this unsub's motive, yawns catching each of us all around. Morgan mentioned how overkill was a little extreme for what the case was, and all I could think about was that if Spencer had been a victim, I might consider flipping that switch. Possibly. Thankfully, today I don't have to find out. "Overkill usually implies a personal relationship." All eyes moved to me, Spencer's practically burning a hole before Morgan coughed, dramatically. 

"Or it could mean that the victim represents someone for whom the killer has extreme anger," Hotch said, keeping his face stoic. I had to wonder if that was just how he was, or if it came with the many years he's been on the job. 

"These unsubs are night owls, stalking and killing other night owls," Rossi chimed in, eyeing me carefully before turning his attention back to Spencer. 

"And they're also disorganized, in one they subdued--" When I glanced up to watch him talk, I couldn't help but fixate my eyes on those veiny hands of his; the same hands he's used countless times on--- I shook my head at the thought, thankful I caught the last of his speal to still contribute. 

"A doorstop, even a ceramic cat," I murmured, holding up the glossy photo of said item, which was broken and covered in what looked like blood. "All of this just to steal?"

"When a gang mentality sets in, unsubs become more capable of heinous acts," Rossi explained. 

"It's still odd. The incidence of robbery is so low in this area," I shook my head, glancing first, up at Hotch, then over to Spencer. I knew well enough by now that an opening like this was exactly when he loved to chime in. 

"That's why I started working a geographical profile. First things first, I factored in journey to crime distance. If you look here, you'll see that this area of Portland is well within the expected five-mile radius. I also factored in distance of decay." Have I mentioned it's distracting hearing him talk over a mile a minute? 

"What does distance have to do with decay?" I asked, not seeing the point Spencer was clearly trying to make. I saw him open his mouth to answer, but Rossi beat him to the punch. 

"It's how geo-profilers measure relative probability of an offender traveling outside his comfort zone."

"Unsubs prefer to stay in an area that they know well," Hotch said, already giving us our assignments for when we land.

"Like you'd commute to work or to the gym," Morgan added on, looking at me as if I'm the only one here that needed that extra explanation. 

"The closer the crime scenes, the greater likelihood it is that the unsub lives or works nearby," Hotch said.

"Based on my algorithm, the unsubs either live or work in this area," Spencer finished, setting down his map he'd bee holding on to down on the table in front of me, pointing to his sharpie-drawn circles. We had some ground to cover, that's for sure. 

-

I tried to hide my smile when Hotch had assigned me with Spencer for the first time while on a case. The two of us hadn't talked much outside of work, lately. I was beginning to wonder if he'd found something better to keep his headaches at bay. I wanted to ask him about that. To let him know that even if I wasn't helping him in that sense, that we could still be friends. 

"So, Mr. Johnson exits the nightclub through the back door to get to his car," Spencer said as we walked down the alleyway. It still amazed me how he was a doctor, yet he dressed so down-to-earth with his converse and his purple scarf. 

"Maybe one unsub can watch from over there," I said, gesturing to the street in front of us. Spencer mentioned a 'back door,' so I turned back, seeing the door a few click away from us. "And the other from back there," I finished, pointing at the door I was still staring at. 

"Then when he gets here, another unsub hits him with a pipe, and it's game on." I turned my attention back to Spencer, easily picking up what he was putting down. A couple of broken glass objects caught my eye, as I gestured down towards them. 

"Look at the vials, Reid," I said out of habit, though we were the only two here, so why did I call him Reid and not Spencer? "This is a drug corridor."

"That would explain why there is so much overkill. Maybe they were on something." I raised an eyebrow up at him, getting a rather odd feeling at the monotone volume of his voice. It was eerily weird, even for Dr. Spencer Reid. 

"On the jet I did some research into the club. A year ago, someone O.D.'d inside. Since then, new management's clamped down on the partying," I further informed him, trying to figure out if Spencer's just purely acting normal, or if he's hiding something from me. 

"Which means the unsubs most likely fit in to this area." 

"Well, if you can't party inside, then you come out here," I gestured with my hands even though they were buried in the pocket of my coat. "They're probably all the same age.." I stole a glance up at him. He seemed like he was so far away, yet right here, at the same time. 

"Yeah, mid-20's.." Spencer trailed off, shifting his gaze to the ground once more. I gave him a small smile of sympathy, guessing silently why he hasn't felt the need to be around me much anymore. I decided to keep that thought to myself as I followed him back to the SUV. 

-

Spencer and I split up, with me going to meet up with Hotch and Rossi. Our unsub had killed again. This time looked even more brutal than the last. I noted that I was walking in on an ongoing discussion. "...on PCP, he'd be so violent, he'd use every muscle he had." Morgan and I had just approached them as Rossi finished his thought. "He'd strangle, kick, bludgeon..." 

"The bedroom's a mess," Morgan said. And it was, belongings tossed everywhere, what could be broken was, it look just like the crime scene they show us on prime time TV. 

"We need to find someone who knew the place in order to figure out specifically what was taken," I explained, trusting my superiors would concede. 

"Hey, guys," Morgan said, grasping everyone's attention as he looks up towards the ceiling. Our eyes follow suit. In doing so, we all went silent. "You hear that?" Sure enough, it sounded like someone was upstairs, padding around, unaware that we were even there. 

"Footsteps upstairs?" Rossi asked, even though everyone present already knew the answer. 

"You think they heard something?" I question as we continue to remain quiet. Right then, a noise from below us sounded through the floorboards. Morgan chuckled, lightly.

"I think the person downstairs did." 

Hotch told Morgan and I to check out the noise from the bottom floor apartment, while he and Rossi checked out the one above. The downstairs neighbor, surprisingly, had very useful information. "Gosh, I've been in this building twenty-seven years." I noticed she was gripping her mug so tight, I was surprised it didn't break under the pressure. "Now, the worst incident we ever had was when Benjamin Headley up in 402 found out his wife was sleeping ... shot him in the groin." I tried so hard to keep my composure. I'm on the job, I reminded myself. I didn't chance a look at Morgan to see if he was holding up any better. After a beat, Morgan asked his question. 

"Ma'am, where did you hear the screaming?" 

"Oh, it was late," she explained, "It was around uh, 3:30." I sensed that she was beginning to panic, even a little bit. 

"Well, then you must've heard the unsub, because according to the M.E., Joe died around 2:45." 

"Th-- wha -- what?" The poor woman definitely now looked like she would faint. 

"Our suspect, Ma'am." 

"Oh," she whispered. 

"What exactly was the person yelling?" I asked, hoping to steer her away from being of no more use to us. She took a moment to think before answering. 

"He said, 'I was just a kid. I was a kid, then. I don't want to kill anymore.'" In that moment, I swore it felt like the neighbor knew just who she was quoting. When she glanced back up at me, I hoped she didn't catch me profiling her. 

"Was anybody talking back to him?" 

"I assumed he was yelling into the phone or something," the woman insisted. 

"You know, maybe he was having a conversation with his hallucination," Morgan pondered, and I wondered if he was talking just to me or to the both of us. I let out a breathy 'Ohh,' when the neighbor lady peered in on us. 

"Was he hearing voices?" She asked, like she didn't know. I turned my head back to her as Morgan answered. 

"Well, we're not really sure, Ma'am. You've been a really big help, Mrs. Donolly, thank you very much." Before we could excuse ourselves, she piped up again. 

"If you have any more questions for me, you know where to find me. Bye." We both watched her shake her head in a bubbly manner as she went back inside her apartment, shutting the door behind her. Odd woman, I thought. Most witnesses, or neighbors, people in general, don't always insist for us to come back and chat with them. 

"PCP hallucinations are terrifying," I say, only half-insinuating that Mrs. Donolly was on them as well. "He wouldn't want to talk to them." I hoped we could get to this kid in time. I wondered what Spencer was thinking about right now, if he was experiencing a headache, or just blissfully forgetting about me outside of work. 

"Well, hallucinations from mental illnesses are not at violent," Morgan quips. I began recounting all the facts our profile has told us. 

"We know he's in his 20s and was acting paranoid at the supermarket." 

"He sounds like a paranoid schizophrenic to me." Right then, I blinked and saw Spencer, he was smiling broadly, a giggle escaping his throat, much like I remember him doing on the nights I'd help him out. In a flash, I was back, Morgan giving me a pointed look. "The disease does manifest itself at this age." 

"What if the people he's seeing are blaming him for something..." I pondered, still trying to shake the image of Spencer from my mind. Morgan seemed to agree. 

"Or worse. The voices in his head could be telling him to kill." Therein lies a thought: while we may have figured out our unsub, we're also discovering just how ignorant the folks in this small town really are. 

-

"We believe our unsub is a white male, paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from hallucina--" As Hotch informed the other officers with our profile for this unsub, I tried my hardest to not look back over my shoulder at Spencer. I knew something was up in the way he darted his eyes anytime anyone breathed the word 'schizophrenic' within his earshot. I could faintly hear him fiddling with his hands, probably going over more information in his head while the alpha males talk than I could ever do in my lifetime. "...or he's misinterpreting them as doing so." I glanced over at Rossi, knowing it was my turn now to speak. 

"Our unsub has probably been coping until now, but a recent stressor brought him back to that childhood incident and is causing him to at out," I couldn't help it this time. I caught his eyes just for a second, but it was long enough to know that in that brief moment, we both silently agreed that we need to find time in the near future to talk about this. I left my arms crossed in front of me, hoping it conveyed the opposite of what I truly felt on the inside. 

Morgan took over, reiterating that it was more than pertinent that we find this man, before he does more damage than he probably realizes he's capable of. Once he was finished, we all coincidentally looked over at the doctor, who looked like he was still lost in his own mind. "Reid?" Hotch asked, breaking the deafening silence we were all too uncomfortable with to touch. Spencer shook his head slightly, pulling out the map he'd drawn on earlier. 

"We need you all to start searching in this area," he barely said, his voice cracking with each syllable. "Based on previous kills, we know that he strikes at night and will not retreat until we find him." The officers gave him curt nods, taking the map from him, moving away to talk amongst themselves. 

"Hey, Spencer, you okay?" I wanted to, at least, let him know I was thinking of him. Hoping that just maybe he would let me in even more so than he had already. 

"I'm fine, can't you tell?" He jerked his hand away from where I was moving to hold it. He scrambled to grab his messenger bag, pulling it over his head as he walked out of the conference room and away from me. Before I could huff out a 'whatever,' Morgan walked towards me, giving me a look that could only mean he knew something. 

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" I looked up at him with glossy eyes, hoping my face and silence was enough to give him his answer. "Look, I don't know how close the two of you are, but, um, this case? It hits close to home for the kid." I nodded, still unsure what he meant by that. "I'm gonna go check on him, make sure he's okay." Just before he disappeared as well, Morgan turned back to me. "Just, be patient with him. Sure he'll come around when the time's right." With that, he left. 

Is there ever going to be a right time? 

-

"...Then check police records. Maybe he's been arrested," Hotch said into his phone as he approached the rest of us at our table. "Any of them for theft?...Alright, go through personal information. Maybe they've had run-ins with the law when they were younger." I stole glances over at Spencer, notices that whatever talk Morgan had with him, well, it seemed to have made a difference already. If only he'd talk with me like that, I thought as he began to convey an hypothesis. 

"You know, at the grocery store where Karen Heywood was shopping the night she was murdered, the clerk said the unsub was buying water and a lot of salt." Spencer was already back to speaking with his hands, a gesture I noted he does more of when he feels just as smart as his IQ claims he is. 

"Saltwater could be used to torture his victims," Rossi said, nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Well, there's no evidence of that," Morgan countered. I was left to ping-pong between them, trying to filter all their thoughts before speaking up to give my own. Naturally, as the newbie, I could only bring up the obvious when it comes to a purchase of salt and water. 

"It could also be used to remove victims' blood from clothing." The ringing in my ears could only be Spencer's big brain working overtime to knit pick at where the rest of us had gone the easy route. I gathered my eyes back over to his, waiting with everyone else what undoubtedly, he had to say. 

"Think about this, though. The visions that schizophrenics have can be interpreted as demons. What do some people do when they think they have demons inside of them?" Before I could mouth the answer, myself, Morgan beat me to it. 

"They could get an exorcism." Pretty soon, the rest of the fact were coming together. The salt, the water, holy water. Shortly after, Spencer grabbed his map, opening it to show where he had circled the unsub's comfort zone. Three churches were within the Sharpie line. 

"Alright, let's see if any of them keep their doors open late," Hotch motioned for all of us to pack ourselves outside and into the SUVs. 

-

Back in the conference room, we still felt no closer to figuring out this unsub. While awaiting on Garcia, I thought back to a moment Spencer and shared just before going our separate ways in the SUVs. "Hey, it's okay to not be okay." As soon as the words left my mouth, the reaction I saw in Spencer's eyes told me he understood what I never said. Biting my lip, I pulled myself out of my head to focus on the case at hand. 

"Okay, here we go," Garcia started while on speakerphone for the four of us to hear. "I looked at that list of schizophrenics that have been recently arrested in that 40-mile radius. I cross-checked it with ones that have gone to local pharmacies to get schizophrenia medication like thorazine or prolixin." Hotch leaned forward, tilting his head a little to probably hear Garcia a little better. 

"Any of them have prescriptions filled for sleeping medication as well?" 

"Yes, one," Garcia piped out. "Ben Foster, he has a prescription for thorazine and ambien." It was most likely safe to say that our guy didn't have a steady source of income. With the documented stolen items from each victim, I could only assume everyone else put two and two together before me, but were nice enough to allow me to get there on my own, too. 

"It's likely he uses the money from the stolen items to buy the pills." 

"What's his background, baby girl?" We heard clicking on Garcia's end, no doubt rapidly finding the answer to Morgan's question. 

"He moved to Portland three years ago. Aaa month ago, he was in an apartment fire, after which he got a sleeping pill medication because his insomnia began again." More silence came through, and I mentally kicked myself for just now noticing that Spencer wasn't here. "Oh, my. When he was ten, he was questioned during an investigation about a fire that killed three people." Rossi nodded. 

"It could be part of the homicidal triad." 

"I'm looking at the police report right now. It turns out, two months before, his mom had a local minister perform an exorcism on him, and the three people who were killed in the fire helped perform that exorcism." 

"Was Ben charged?" Rossi asked, no doubt expecting Garcia to have his answer for him at the ready. She wasn't referred to as the Tech Queen for nothing. 

"No, he was acquitted in juvie court." 

"You got an address," Hotch asked, looking over at the phone. 

"Uh, 2627 Halden Way." 

"You heard her, let's go." 

-

We had his house surrounded within minutes. Kevlar vests on, guns drawn, we were as ready as we were ever going to be. It didn't take long before Hotch called out "FBI!" from where he'd been standing. Morgan and I were just getting around the back when we saw our unsub trying to make a run for it. 

"He's out back!" Morgan had yelled as he kicked the metal gate open for the both of us to run past, chasing him down. We followed him to a gated area, but he was able to hop the fences, leaving both Morgan and I to stand there, trying to figure out our next move as he continues gaining more feet on us. "Seaver, Let's go!" I kept raising my weapon at every turn, wishing we could just corner this kid, already. 

We rounded our eighth corner when I swore I heard a door open and close. Morgan raced ahead of me, quick-checking as he went, leaving me to double-check at a slightly slower pace behind him. When we couldn't hear nor see anything, Morgan comned in. "Hotch, we lost him. We're gonna check the back alley." He then motioned with his hand for me to follow him. "C'mon."

We continued to run down most of the neighborhood. Eventually, we found ourselves close to where we started. Just when we both looked at each other, thinking we lost him for real, Hotch came on over the comms. "I think we've got something at 2218..." Morgan and I sprinted to the house, noticing right away how every single curtain was pulled closed. We made out way quietly inside the house, hearing Hotch and Reid on the opposite side. "Ben, drop the knife." Morgan looked back at me, showing me with his free hand that he was going to sprint through the bamboo curtain into the living room. I nodded, covering him just in case. 

"..Just shoot me," Ben whispered, I almost couldn't hear him. Luckily, it seemed Spencer could. 

"Ben, were not going to shoot you. But we do need you to put down that knife, okay?" Ben looked at everyone of us before going back to Spencer, choosing to lower the knife in his hand slowly. "Alright." Spencer mirrored the unsub, moving to holster his revolver. "Where are the other people in this room, Ben?" That's right. The hallucinations. 

"Right there. You see them?" he asked, waving his hand with the knife still gripped tight. He had two children with him, no doubt confused about the man with a knife and and FBI agent talking about people who clearly aren't there. Almost reminded me of when I was little. 

"Right here?" Spencer asked, moving over just an inch, his eyes never leaving Ben's. His tongue carefully peeked out of his mouth, then slipped back in just before he spoke. "Where they there for the exorcism?" 

"Mm-mm," Ben nodded. "I didn't kill 'em though. I didn't do it." He shifted his gaze, looking past Spencer to some empty space behind him. "And I'm not lying!" 

"Ben, they're dead," Hotch leveled with him, probably betting it was the safest course of action to ensure the children's safety. "And they can't hurt you anymore." 

"They can," Ben sobbed, quietly. 

"No, Ben," Morgan interjected. "Your mind is playing tricks on you. Once you get help, it'll all stop." He held his weapon directly at the small patch of skin between Ben's eyeballs. 

"Yes you are .... yeah, okay." Ben paused for a brief moment, clearly talking to his three imaginary killing spree friends. "Alright, I killed you. I set the fire." We knew he was already devolving, so we remained as stoic as we could, only speaking when we felt necessary. 

"Ben. Listen to us, it's okay. We're going to get you a doctor's help. I promise you that." I watched Morgan maintain his line of fire directly with Ben. 

"No. The---the only way that you can help me is if you do it--if you kill me." I attempted to silently urge the children to slowly tiptoe away from Ben as best I could, but he still had a grip on them. I watched it loosen, though. 

"Ben, that's not true. Listen, the only way we can help you is if you put down the knife." Spencer;s voice cracked a little at what happened next. Ben look completely confused, eyeing Spencer like he just spoke plain gibberish. 

"Are you sure that'll work?" Damn, what pills did Garcia say he was taken, again? Spencer moved an inch, keeping himself as still as possible. 

"Oh, I'm absolutely sure, Ben," Spencer promised. "Put that knife down, okay?" Ben looked like he was on his last thread, crumbling before us, bit by bit. 

""...okay... It's okay, go on," he whispered to the kids, releasing them from his hold, the two of them running towards me and Morgan. 

"Here, follow me," I said to them, ushering them outside the house before any shots could possibly be fired. It didn't take long before I heard what sounded like Morgan tackling Ben to the floor. Then, sure enough, a gunshot rang through just before I shut the door behind me. I managed to get the kids to Officer Kenny, who then took them to the waiting EMTs. I allowed myself to relax just a little, knowing with nothing more than a feeling that the rest of my team was okay. I barely register Spencer's "We need an ambulance," as I was still hearing only the sound of my own heartbeat. 

-

On the jet back home, I couldn't shake the feeling I've had during this entire case. I kept reading and rereading over Ben's file, trying to see if something would click. I was so engrossed, I didn't even hear Morgan approach me until he came into my line of view, seating himself down across from me, mug in hand. "Why are you still up?" I shrug slightly, knowing he wasn't going to let this go. 

"I've been looking over Ben's file. Turn's out, he'd been seeing evil imaginary friends ever since he was a child." I, too, felt like I had a reason to connect with this unsub. I wondered if Spencer had a connection, as well. I figured he did, I just wish I knew what and why. 

"Ben was always a killer. You think he had schizophrenia?" I could tell Morgan wasn't exactly asking about Ben. 

"He may have suffered from some mental disease, but schizophrenia usually presents itself in your late teens or early twenties." I tried to sound confident and reassuring. If Spencer familial line includes schizophrenia, I would think he wouldn't worry. He's already less than a year from turning thirty. Surely if he had it, he would've been displaying signs quite a while ago. 

"Ben did kill those people in that church fire, which is part of that homicidal triad."

"And his mother thought an exorcism would get rid of the demons." Homicidal triad. A disease such as schizophrenia is more faceted than most understand. Now, I knew I had to talk to Spencer tonight. There was absolutely no way I was getting any sleep until I do. 

"The only way you can stop a killer, is to catch him, Seaver."

"You know," I laughed lightly, thinking back to my father. "I always viewed serial killers as monsters. But Ben's remorse seemed real. And that's why I can't sleep. I--I can't get him out of my mind." I can't get Spencer out of my mind. "Does it ever go away?" I followed Morgan as he turned to look down over at Spencer, who was curled up on the couch, seemingly fast asleep. 

"Luckily, it does. Try and get some rest."

Rest. That was precisely one thing I didn't get later that night. Spencer expressed that he wanted to stop our 'arrangement,' as he called it. He'd been referred to a geneticist, and clearly hoped that whatever they were going to give him would also cure him. I didn't have the heart to agree with him, though. 

So, that night, we continued this 'friends with benefits' thing. I kept reassuring myself that he wanted to continue. I told him if he ever felt like this needed to stop, all he had to do was say the word. Problem was, I was beginning to wish he wouldn't ask me to stop. Even after he no longer experienced any more headaches. 

-

Our latest case left us all fatigued. Garcia said she wanted to get the girls together, including the woman I seemingly replaced, J.J. As much as I wanted to, I opted against it. I meant to track down Spencer, offering him a ride, per usual. While on his way out, Rossi mentioned Spencer hustled to take the metro. Why didn't he just ask me for a ride? I decided I would just go to his place and find out. I also had questions I left unasked, which now, I decided I wanted answers to. And I just knew he'd be awake. 

I forced my feet up the stairs, coming up to knock on his door. The last time this happened, it didn't take him long to accept my rather unorthodox line of help, and I wondered if he'd be as reluctant this time, or not. 

knock, knock

I waited for what felt like forever, until I heard some shuffling, and a quiet, "what the hell?" coming from behind the door. I hear the lock click open, and Spencer's hand gripping the edge of the door as he pulls it open, revealing himself in just a t-shirt, pajama bottoms, mismatched socks and his glasses. His adorably cute horn-rimmed glasses. 

"Ashley? Is everything okay?" Funny. I drove all the way here to your doorstep to ask just that of you. I opted to shake my head in response, hoping he'd silently let me inside. Spencer widened his door a bit more, allowing my to shrink past him as I made my way over to his couch. Spencer wordlessly followed me, probably wondering what I was doing at his place unannounced at almost 3:00 a.m. 

"I--Everything is not okay," I sighed. "First thing, mind telling me why you chose to take the metro when I know you knew damn well I would have given you a ride." I was allowing myself to get upset, already feeling the tears trickle down my face. I shouldn't have come here. 

"I didn't want you to start asking me questions," Spencer murmured. I watched him shuffle in his spot on the couch, doing that thing with his tongue when he's deep in thought. "I mean, the fact that you're here now, I guess, means you're going to ask me anyway." 

"Not necessarily," I said, a little hurt by how he's acting towards me right now. "You let me in. You could've just as easily slammed the door in my face." I looked up at him, trying to appear as calm and collected as I wish I could be. "Why didn't you?" 

"Why didn't I ... what?" 

"Shut your door in my face." Spencer let out a heavy sigh, looking everywhere but at me. "You know what? I---I should go, we got the day off, so I guess I'll uhh, see you later?" I moved to remove myself from his couch, desperate to leave without full out blubbering. Of course, luck rarely is on my side as Spence chose that moment to finally open up. 

"My mom has schizophrenia." 

I stopped, my hand barely touching the doorknob. I relaxed my shoulders, turning around to look over at the man who is now standing only a few feet away. "Sh-she's been like that for as long as I can remember. And I--I'm at that age, the age when most schizophrenic breaks occur, and--and with these headaches, I--" 

"Do you still have them?" Spencer blinked at me a few times, like he wasn't grasping what I was asking. "The headaches? Do you still get them?" 

"Oh, uhh, not, um, recently," he stuttered, bringing one of his hands to the back on his neck. Normally, I've come to find that habit of his endearing, but this time, it only served to create a very unwanted feeling in my gut. "I got in touch with that geneticist I mentioned last time, the one who is said to be the top in her field. I'm, um, I'm due to hear from her soon. She's out of town, so I wasn't able to set up an appointment with her, but my last doctor, who recommended her, sent in my brain scans." 

I gave him a soft smile, unsure how to proceed. "Well, I hope the results this geneticist finds are welcoming." I moved once more to leave, but Spencer gently grabbed my arm, his eyes seemingly begging me to stay. Did he lie about having a headache? 

"There's more, um, if you're willing to listen." I should have just excused myself from his place right then and there. Simply nodding my head, but giving him a very valid reason like 'it's almost sunrise and I should be wallowing in self-pity on my own, in the comfort of my own place, not to be reminded by the likes of you.' 

But, I didn't. 

Instead, I swallowed all of my fear and insecurities, knowing I needed to be more of a rock than an avalanche right now. For Spencer. What he confessed next caught me off guard. I had no idea he had not only been kidnapped by an unsub, but he had an addictive drug forced into his bloodstream, no doubt giving him the shakes later. 

"I've managed to stay clean for now," Spencer shot his eyebrows, along with his eyes, up to the ceiling for a second, coming back down to look at me before giving his accurate answer. "Four years, one month, and twenty-three days." I blinked at him, softening my face in the process. 

"Keep your coin with you?" Spencer's eyes widened a smidge before he answered. 

"Uh, ye-yeah, I do." I could tell he wanted to ask how I knew that, hopefully because he didn't want to assume and make the wrong assumption. 

"It's, um, it's okay, I--I once got caught up in using cocaine and ecstasy quite a few years ago, way before I joined the Academy." I went on to explain to Spencer how, after my dad got caught and went to jail, my mom, as loving as she was, she lost herself after that, so I learned to just live my life the way I thought I wanted. I was able to sneak into clubs and bars while underage, meeting lonely partners who never once asked me how old I truly was, just wanting a body to bang and get high with. Back then, I was okay with that. 

One of the reasons it didn't phase me to offer myself as help for Spencer, given his headaches. It appears we both came to the same conclusion in unison. 

"Ashley, um, is that why you're completely okay with the two of us being, um ..." 

"Yeah, I guess it is," I finished, wishing his well-polished floor would swallow me whole. "You know, it's almost light out, I should--I should go, for real, this time." 

Spencer hung his head, looking up at me with his signature puppy eyes. "Yeah, but, um, just so you know, you don't have to worry about me telling anyone else on the team about..well, you know." I smiled, trusting that he was telling the truth. He always tells the truth. "And, um, thank you, again, I--I, uhh, I owe you a lot, you know, for, um, helping me." 

"I told you, Spencer, you're not the only one getting something out of it." 

"I know, it's just--before you, I always managed to only sleep with partners that I've developed romantic feelings for...I never imagined myself capable of, um, keeping things strictly physical, before." I swallowed the lump in my throat at his words. That's right. This was a no-romantic-feelings arrangement. 

"Well, I'd like to thing you feel at least something along the lines of friendship with me," I joked, hoping I was convincing enough that he wouldn't pick up on my cracking heart. 

"I stand corrected." I smiled, opening his front door this time, signalling that I no longer could remain in his apartment, in his personal space.

"I'm glad we, um, talked. Goodnight, Spencer." He bent down to kiss me on my cheek. 

"Me too. Goodnight, Ashley." His eyes caught the sliver of sunlight that now blanketed the city just outside the building we were in. "I guess, I mean, good morning." I laughed. He was right. 

So, why did I choose to keep these growing feelings to myself? Oh, that's right. Because Spencer Reid only sees me as a means to an end. I was at least comforted by the fact that I am more afraid of losing our friendship once he finds a cure for his headaches, but also, I solemnly admitted that I would miss our late nights caught between the sheets. 

I was falling down the rabbit hole that is Dr. Spencer Reid. 

And I doubted he would even be there to catch me. 

\-------♥--------


End file.
